


A Dramatic Reading

by White_Squirrel



Series: Dramatic Reading [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: About five percent quotations, Actual plot, Characters Reading Harry Potter Books, Gen, Hilarity Ensues, Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic, Not an MST-Fic, Parody, Professors, Realistic, Reasonable Pacing, Reverse Parody?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Squirrel/pseuds/White_Squirrel
Summary: Umbridge finds seven books about Harry Potter from another dimension in the Room of Requirement and decides to read them aloud to the school in an ill-advised attempt to discredit Dumbledore. Hilarity ensues. Features an actual plot, realistic reactions, decent pacing, *and minimal quotations*.





	1. Umbridge: The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling. Yes, there are direct quotes here, but they are used sparingly (approximately 5% of the source material) and for an actual narrative purpose, not for heckling or commentating like in all the other stories of this type.
> 
> I thought a lot about whether to even write this story, much less publish it. It’s a big project, and not one that’s wildly conducive to success. However, my initial enquiries were surprisingly encouraging, so I gave it a try. This eventually became a series with my own work on this story covering all of Philosopher's Stone, and Srikanth1808 doing the writing on the sequel, A Sensational Story.
> 
> Harry Potter characters reading the Harry Potter books is a trope that in my experience is universally handled terribly. Usually, the books are quoted verbatim, somebody interrupts *literally every sentence* just for the sake of commenting, and there’s no actual plot. Even the stories that break this pattern do so halfheartedly, and they still wind up being twice as long as the books themselves and terminally boring.
> 
> But despite this, I believe that any trope can be made to work in the right hands, so I wanted to try it and actually take it seriously. This is the story of how the characters would actually react to the Harry Potter books, told at an actually readable pace. To do anything less is not doing the story justice.
> 
> This is more relevant on FFN, but I want to make it clear here, too: I contend that this is NOT an MST story. An MST story is defined on as “comments inserted in between the flow of a copied story.” This is not the case here because I am using quotes sparingly, not interleaving them with commentary, and there is an actual plot, which is also not about commentary, but about various characters scheming to use the information they learn to their own ends.

Dolores Umbridge paced back and forth through the upper floors of Hogwarts, trying to think of some way to finish her job: shutting up Dumbledore and that brat, Potter, for good. Both of them were slippery targets, but she knew—she _knew_ —that they had to be up to something. Why else would they keep spewing their ridiculous lies if they weren’t?

But she could never prove anything. A smear campaign in the media, strict restrictions, a half dozen educational decrees and even one failed assassination attempt and subsequent show trial had all failed to stop Potter. Somehow, he had come out with an interview in that awful rag, _The Quibbler_ , with Rita Skeeter, no less, right under her very nose. Merlin, she’d thought Skeeter was a Ministry woman. Potter must have threatened her to get that.

And so, she was wandering about on the seventh floor on a Saturday, trying to find dirt on Potter’s illicit activities in the school. She knew something was going on. She just hadn’t been able to pin it down. _If only I could find out the truth about Potter,_ she thought as she passed by that eyesore of a tapestry of the dancing trolls. What little evidence she had said that whatever Potter was up to was centred on _this_ location, but she couldn’t see anything off about the place.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a crash coming from behind her. She spun around and darted past the tapestry again. _Aha! I_ _’ve got you now, Potter. All I need is to get the real truth out of you, and then you’ll get it!_

But the disturbance wasn’t Potter. It was Peeves. That dratted poltergeist ought to have been exorcised centuries ago. Dolores may not have been the best with a wand, but she successfully banished him to an unused wing where he couldn’t cause much trouble and continued on her patrol. _Now, where was I,_ she thought. _Right, I need proof of Potter_ _’s misdeeds, and preferably Dumbledore’s, too. I just need the real story._ Another strange sound stopped her as she passed the tapestry a third time. She looked, and on the opposite wall, there was a door. She was quite certain there hadn’t been a door there before. And that door couldn’t possibly _go_ anywhere. It was an outer wall of the castle! That was suspicious. She went over to the mysterious door and (cautiously, in case it led to a sheer drop or something) opened it.

At first, the little room behind the door looked disappointing. It was a small, private reading room, the kind that Granger girl might secretly maintain somewhere. It contained a small fire grate, a wing chair, and a side table with a lamp on it. Also on the side table was a stack of seven colourful-looking books. Dolores picked up the first one and read the title: _Harry Potter and the Philosopher_ _’s Stone_.

Potter again? Where did these books come from? She wondered. There had been books written about the alleged Boy-Who-Lived, but these weren’t among them. The Potter on the cover was dressed as a student, and the books she knew about had stopped coming out after he started school. And what’s more, she remembered hearing some interesting rumours about the Philosopher’s Stone during Potter’s first year. Could this be the true story about Potter she was looking for? Could the castle itself have sensed her need and provided for her? It seemed extraordinary, but perhaps Hogwarts was more on her side than she thought.

It seemed worth taking a look, at least. She sat down in the wing chair and began to read the first chapter.

Most of the chapter wasn’t all that interesting. Potter had some bloody annoying muggle relatives. No surprise there. Merlin, they sounded even worse than her mother and brother. Maybe that’s why he was so cranky all the time. Ha!

Ah, this was better. What was Dumbledore doing? Besides making a fool of himself? Muggle sweets, of all the things. But still, none of it seemed useful, until she got to the end of the chapter, and a dawning look of comprehension crept over her face.

“He did _what_?” she gasped. Her lips curled into a sneer. “Oh, this is good. This is _very_ good. I’d better Floo-call Cornelius. If the rest of this book is anything like the first chapter, Dumbledore is going down. Even Potter will be against him when I’m through with him…And I know the perfect way to do it, too.”

* * *

Monday morning began perfectly normally at Hogwarts, but little by little, the students and teachers got a creeping sensation that something very big was about to happen—Harry Potter, especially. Perhaps it was that very genuine evil grin Umbridge kept giving him. She looked entirely too cheerful this morning and he had a feeling the other shoe was about to drop.

It wasn’t until the end of breakfast that Umbridge made her move. “Hem hem, may I have your attention, please?” she said, standing up. “I have an important announcement to make. Today, all morning classes have been cancelled.”

No one was foolish enough to cheer. Quite a few people gasped, especially among the teachers. If she was cancelling classes, Umbridge had either gone insane or was planning something much more devious than usual.

“Instead, all students and teachers will remain in the Great Hall for the morning for a public book reading.”

She _was_ insane. Were her classes not enough, and now she wanted to read that awful Defence book to the whole school at once? Even Dumbledore looked perplexed. “That’s an _extremely_ unusual move, Dolores,” he said. “May I ask what brought it on?”

“Certainly, Headmaster. You see, I have had numerous problems this school year with certain individuals spreading dangerous and panic-inducing lies about the supposed return of a certain dark wizard. Despite repeated attempts at discipline, these lies persist, most egregiously in one Harry Potter’s slanderous interview with a notorious gossip magazine. Notwithstanding the best efforts of the Ministry, these lies have gained traction in some circles, and the Minister and I have agreed that we are left with no choice but to publicly rebut them.”

Several of the teachers (and students) scoffed. Was she going to give a three-hour speech on the subject? From where he sat, Harry wouldn’t put it past her—but wait, didn’t she say it was a _book reading?_

“And how do you intend to do that?” Dumbledore asked politely. He still sounded more bemused than anything else.

“I’m glad you asked, Headmaster. I recently came into possession of a biography of Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts, which I understand to be true and containing details not known to the general public.” And that _was_ true, to the best her knowledge. Dolores Umbridge was no fool. She had made it through about half the book on Saturday and spent most of yesterday making enquiries at the Ministry and asking carefully-worded questions of several teachers, especially Hagrid. Every detail she was able to fact-check came back true, including some that were _definitely_ not known to the public, if they were even known to anyone besides the people mentioned in the book itself. J. K. Rowling appeared to be a pseudonym, and she had no idea who he or she was, but the rest seemed trustworthy.

Dumbledore was getting more confused, not less. In the unlikely event that book was the _real_ story of Harry’s first year, there was no way Dolores would make it public…unless she hadn’t read the whole thing, perhaps? But if it was just another slanderous manifesto, why go to this much trouble? No, there had to be something more to it.

Harry just groaned at her words. It was bad enough that people were making up lies about him all the time, but now he was going to have to sit through a whole fake biography? This was just too much.

“I’m surprised you would allow a book reading, Professor Umbridge,” Professor McGonagall said shrewdly, taking a more pragmatic approach. “I was under the impression that teachers were banned from giving the students information not related to their subjects.”

“That restriction has been suspended for the sake of this activity, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge replied.

McGonagall gasped in a show of indignation: “Surely you don’t mean to go against Educational Decree Number…damn,” she muttered under her breath. “Er, Twenty-Six?”

Umbridge smiled her wicked smile. “I think you will find that the rule in question was merely ‘in accordance with’ E.D. Twenty-Six, Professor. The decree itself gives me the power to enact or suspend such rules as I see fit for the efficient operation of the school.”

“And you think that cancelling the morning’s classes will be conducive to the efficient operation of the school?” McGonagall said dryly.

“Oh, I think the results of this activity will be _very_ beneficial to Hogwarts as a whole.” That didn’t sound good, and students and teachers alike knew it, especially with the way Umbridge had been trying to undermine Dumbledore all year. “Now, before we begin, I would like to invite in a few guests to sit in on the reading. Mr. Filch?”

Filch opened the doors of the Great Hall, and in walked Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, along with Percy Weasley two Aurors: Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a smaller, pale man Harry and his friends didn’t know. Everyone stared at the newcomers as they took seats off to the right of the High Table.

“Good morning, Minister,” Umbridge said brightly.

“Good morning, Dolores,” Fudge replied. He looked even smugger than usual. “All set for this morning’s entertainment? It should be good, if what you’ve told me is true.”

“I’m sure it will be, Minister.” Umbridge produced a colourful hard-backed book and addressed the school: “The title of the book is _Harry Potter and the Philosopher_ _’s Stone_.”

Dumbledore’s smile slipped a little. The title didn’t prove anything; much of the Philosopher’s Stone incident was public record, but it was a red flag that someone would use it in a book about Harry. If it was as accurate as she claimed, there could be trouble.

“Now, I think we will rotate readers so that no one has to strain his or her voice,” Umbridge said. Harry scoffed as he watched at the thought that it was mostly so _she_ wouldn’t have to strain her voice. “Teachers in order of seniority, I think? That seems fair. I will be happy to start the reading, of course,” she added before Dumbledore could ask to get his hands on the book.

 _“Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived…”_ she read. _“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”_

And from that first line, Dumbledore started to sweat. Something was very wrong here. He wasn’t afraid for his own career—yet—but he _was_ worried that sensitive information might be released through this book. He had no idea what it was or where it came from, but as Umbridge continued reading about Vernon Dursley’s unusual day—clearly referring to the first of November, 1981—he became increasing convinced that this book really was accurate (and that someone had tricked the High Inquisitor into reading it to the school). And yet, with the Minister here, he didn’t have the power to stop her.

That immediately raised the question of who wrote the book. From the intimate details it gave about the Dursleys’ home life, it had to be Harry Potter himself or someone very close to him. Hermione Granger seemed the most likely suspect, although it could have been Sirius Black or Remus Lupin, both of whom had a lot of time on their hands, or perhaps one of the Weasleys, or Minerva as an outside chance. Any of them might know things they ought not to make public.

Meanwhile, down at the Gryffindor Table, Harry Potter was coming to the same unsettling conclusion. Hermione noticed his discomfort at once. She glanced up at the High Table once and whispered to him, “Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry eyed Umbridge too, but she didn’t seem to notice the whispering as she read on: _“It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map…”_

“Guys, I think this book might actually be accurate,” Harry whispered to his friends.

“What?” they gasped quietly.

“That sounds just like the Dursleys,” he said.

“Do you remember what she’s reading about?” Hermione asked.

“No, it sounds like it’s the day I got left there, but it sounds just like them. I don’t think any other wizards know them well enough to write them that well.”

“Then where did the book come from?” asked Ron.

“I don’t know. Neither of you wrote it, did you?”

“No.”

“Of course not.”

“Fred? George? Ginny?”

“As fun as that would be—”

“—it wasn’t us,” the Twins whispered.

“Me neither,” added Ginny.

“Anyone else in your family?”

“Doubt it,” Ron said. “It doesn’t sound like any of them.”

“It had to have come from _somewhere,_ though,” Hermione insisted. “Who else would know enough to write that?”

Harry stared at the High Table and thought for a minute.

_“‘Don’t be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You Know Who has gone at last! Even muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!’”_

“Idiot.”

All eyes turned to the end of the High Table. Snape had interrupted Umbridge’s reading, as only Snape had the nerve to do. “Such flagrant disregard for the Statute of Secrecy,” he said. “Does the book say who the dunderhead was?”

“Hm…no, I’m afraid not,” said Umbridge. “A shame. That is quite flagrant, I agree. But to continue: _And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off_ _…”_

“Ha. Well, _that_ can’t be accurate,” Harry said.

“Why not?” whispered Ron.

“Because no one has arms that long.”

Harry’s friends snickered quietly. Umbridge was still so preoccupied with the reading that she still didn’t notice.

Harry listened with more interest, though, when the cat was mentioned again, with its unusual markings around the eyes. That sounded an awful lot like Professor McGonagall, as several of his classmates whispered to each other, but then, it hit him: McGonagall had been there when he’d been left at the Dursleys. He looked up at the High Table and saw her sitting there with the same baffled expression that Dumbledore and many of the other teachers now wore. They must all be as surprised as he was.

Mrs. Dursley had a nice, normal day of spying on her neighbours and teaching Dudley a new word (“Shan’t!”), but the news people had _not_ had such a normal day, and both Dursleys noticed.

 _“‘Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they’ve had a downpour of shooting stars!’_ Goodness, yes, I remember that day, Minister, don’t you?” Umbridge commented. “They had us running ragged in the Improper Use of Magic Office. It was all Bagnold’s fault, of course, asserting our ‘inalienable right to party.’ Hmph! It wasn’t such a party for the cleanup crew.”

“I remember, Dolores,” Fudge replied from the side of the hall. “It was nearly as bad in Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, even before what Sirius Black did. Took us weeks to mop up everything. Let that be a lesson to everyone to be more careful,” he said more loudly. “Please continue, Dolores.”

The pressure of the news report was apparently too much for Mr. Dursley because he gave in and asked his wife about her sister—the sister she preferred to pretend didn’t exist. She confirmed that her nephew’s name was, indeed, Harry Potter, at which point even the dullest students in the Great Hall made the connection: everyone knew Harry lived with muggle relatives, and these must be them. Harry’s friends already knew about the Dursleys, but it was a shock to the rest of the school how unpleasant they were. The whispers about them grew so loud that Umbridge finally took notice.

“Quiet, please, everyone,” she said. “We’re just coming to the good part: _A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you_ _’d have thought he’d just popped out of the ground.”_

From the description of his attire, no one was surprised the man was Professor Dumbledore meeting Professor McGonagall at the Dursleys’ house. However, Hermione was fascinated by the description of his Put-Outer and its ability to turn off the street lamps, and she actually began taking notes right there at the table. “It must be more stable or reliable that a regular spell in some way,” she whispered. “I wonder how it actually pulls the light _out_ of electrical fixtures like that…”

The real Dumbledore, however, was lost in thought. This ought to have narrowed it down further. Not many people knew about his Deluminator, and he was confident that list did _not_ include Harry or any of his friends. It was a clever little gadget, but he rarely had use of it except when he visited muggle areas. He was also certain that Minerva had been the only other witness to the events described before Hagrid arrived. He gave his Deputy another questioning look, and she frantically shook her head once more. This meant the author would have to be someone very close to both Harry and Minerva to pull this off—an Order member. Only Arthur, Molly, Sirius, or Remus could possibly fit that bill. Or could there have been an eavesdropper? Possibly, but who? The story was too accurate to be Rita Skeeter’s work, and with anyone else, the question was, “Why?”

 _“‘I suppose he really_ has _gone, Dumbledore?_ _’”_

 _“‘It certainly seems so,’ said Dumbledore._ There, you see, Minister, even Dumbledore himself believed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gone for good from the first,” Umbridge said triumphantly.

“So he did,” Fudge said. “Now, how do you explain that, Dumbledore?”

“At the time, like everyone else, I was hopeful that Voldemort was, indeed, gone for good, Cornelius,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “However, I soon saw signs that he was not, in fact, as dead as he seemed. If you recall, I was not shy about saying so these past fourteen years, and for much of that time, you yourself trusted my judgement.”

“And it took a blatant power play to open my eyes, but everyone makes mistakes from time to time. You _do_ have more, don’t you, Dolores?”

“ _Much_ more, Minister,” she said with a grin. “We’ve only just begun. _‘We have much to be thankful for—’”_ She giggled slightly. _“‘Would you care for a sherbet lemon?’”_

Harry groaned. Everyone knew Dumbledore was eccentric, but this conversation was making him look totally off his rocker.

But oddly, Hermione snickered. “Alright, new theory: Dumbledore is the Doctor.”

“What?” Harry said.

“Doctor who?” Ron said.

“Exactly! Would you like a jelly baby?” she said before nearly collapsing in stifled giggles.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ron wondered.

“It’s a muggle TV show,” Harry whispered. “Hermione, this is serious!”

“Sorry. Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

Umbridge, however, had hit the first snag in her master plan. In her excitement over the weekend, she had passed over the fact that the book had written out He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s name in print. She was stuck over whether to read it as such and frantically trying to remember whether it was mentioned frequently. Even she had to admit that “You-Know-Who” got unwieldy pretty quickly. She could still switch it in in most cases, but in this particular context, it would sound ridiculous.

 _“‘My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this “You-Know-Who” nonsense—for eleven years, I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: V…V…’”_ she tried to say. _“V…_ well, he said the name—”

“Surely, Dolores,” Dumbledore interrupted, “if you truly believe that he is gone forever, then there is no danger in saying his name, especially here, behind the wards of Hogwarts.” Perhaps there was a silver lining to this after all, he thought.

“Oh, fine, then. _‘Voldemort!’”_ she said. Dumbledore was making a power play, and she couldn’t let him win. Many students gasped. Even Cornelius looked pale. Dumbledore looked smug, and she scowled. She’d wipe that smile off his face soon enough. But the conversation in the book soon turned from Voldemort to the subject of the Potters. It was when Umbridge read the line, _“‘Lily and James…I can’t believe it…I didn’t want to believe it…Oh, Albus…’”_ that Professor McGonagall decided to act.

“Professor Umbridge! That is an extremely personal conversation,” she interrupted. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to read it in front of the students.”

Umbridge turned to her: “On the contrary, Professor McGonagall, I believe this conversation is critical to understanding the current situation. To continue: _“Dumbledore reached out and patted her shoulder…”_ Dumbledore then explained that Voldemort was destroyed when he tried to kill Harry but he couldn’t explain how: _“‘We can only guess,’ said Dumbledore. ‘We may never know.’”_

“Wait a minute, he didn’t know?” Harry said.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“Dumbledore told me exactly what happened to Voldemort at the end of my first year. My mother’s protection stopped him. But if he didn’t know then, I don’t see how he could have figured it out. I was the only one there who survived, and I didn’t remember anything till third year. How could he have got any more information in between?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, and she regarded Dumbledore carefully. “That does sound odd,” she said. “I…I don’t think I understand the situation enough to make a guess. You’ll have to ask him afterwards…if he doesn’t get sacked first.” She thought for another minute and pulled out another sheet of parchment. “There are a _lot_ of questions that need answering,” she said, and she started writing them down:

  1. _Who wrote the book?_
  2. _How did they find out everything?_
  3. _How did Umbridge get it?_
  4. _Why did Dumbledore say he didn_ _’t know how Harry survived Voldemort’s attack?_



“Number five,” Harry said, “How did everyone know what happened when I was the only living witness?”

“Magical forensics, maybe?” Hermione said.

“But they never found Voldemort’s body. How were they sure he was even dead?”

“The Dark Marks, I think,” George jumped in, to their surprise.

“What?” they asked in unison.

“Snape was a spy for Dumbledore, right? I remember Dad talking about how the Dark Marks on the Death Eaters turned dark again when You-Know-Who returned.”

“Oh, so when he ‘died’, they must have faded,” Hermione said. “You see, Harry? They probably could have guess most of that.”

“I guess.”

 _“‘A letter?’ repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. ‘Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter?’_ That’s a very good point, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge said. “You yourself speak with parents of muggle-born students extensively to ensure that they fully understand the magical world and their place in it, do you not?”

She paused long enough for McGonagall to realised that the question was _not_ rhetorical, and Dolores wanted her to put her answer on record. “That is true, although the situation _was_ different in this case. Petunia already knew—”

“Placing Harry Potter with muggle relatives is questionable enough, Headmaster,” Umbridge cut her off. “Leaving a letter rather than explaining what had happened? Not offering condolences for the death of her beloved sister? That seems unusually callous for you.”

At that point, Dumbledore knew what she was up to. He hadn’t thought much of his actions in leaving the infant Harry with his relatives. His intent had been to leave Petunia no choice in taking him in and thus sealing the Protection of Blood Charm, but he knew it would look bad out of context, and with Minerva acquiescing to his plan, it didn’t reflect well on her well either. She wouldn’t be particularly safe, nor would Hagrid, and that would be a disaster. If Dolores played her proverbial cards right, Severus could be the only Order member left in the castle, and then Harry would have no one he trusted to speak to if anything happened. That could not be allowed to happen with Voldemort trying to lure him to the Department of Mysteries.

There was only one chance. He’d have to gamble with whatever would be said in the rest of the book to make sure she got to the part that (presumably) would prove that Voldemort was still alive. Under the table, he quickly scribbled out a note: _Make sure she reads all the way to the end of the book._ He then enchanted it to fly under the table to Severus. He saw the Potions Master look down at his lap for a moment and look back up with a blank expression. He inclined his head slightly. Message received.

_“‘I would trust Hagrid with my life,’ said Dumbledore._

_“‘I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place,’ said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, ‘but you can’t pretend he’s not careless.’_ Hmm, it’s a pity you we’re more assertive, Professor. It sounds as if you have a good deal more sense than our esteemed Headmaster. You could have done very well in his place if you’d taken a different direction.”

Hagrid had turned red and was watching McGonagall with a betrayed look. McGonagall herself was red with embarrassment, but Umbridge didn’t give her a chance to respond—obviously because it wouldn’t benefit her cause.

 _“—and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them._ Tsk tsk. That _definitely_ falls under the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects. Do make a note of that, Mr. Weasley.”

As Percy took notes, she continued on, describing how Hagrid produced baby Harry and explained how he had found him in the ruins of Godric Hollow and brought him to Little Whinging. Umbridge’s smile became wider and wider and Dumbledore and especially McGonagall looked more and more mortified as the audience began to understand just what they had done.

_“‘Good luck, Harry,’ he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.”_

She paused to wait for the reaction, which she was sure would be significant. Better yet, from her perspective, the first person to speak up was Professor Flitwick, probably the most broadly-respected teacher at the school. “Just a moment,” he said. “Albus, do you mean to tell me that you left a one-year-old out on the doorstep alone overnight in late autumn?”

The entire Hall was listening to what Dumbledore had to say for himself. He thought fast. Maybe he could still save this. “I admit that my actions were unorthodox, Filius,” he said. “However, I ensured that the infant Mr. Potter was in no danger that night. I placed charms on him to ensure he would stay warm and protected until morning, and I checked back discreetly in the morning to ensure his aunt had, indeed taken him in.” That last bit was only half-true. He’d merely checked to ensure the Blood Protection had sealed properly from his office. “I knew that his aunt wanted as little to do with the magical world as possible, so I elected not to introduce myself directly.”

“Hem hem,” Dolores said. “That is _fascinating_ , Headmaster, but the fact remains that your actions were questionable far beyond this bout of poor judgement that night. Mr. Potter should have had a legal process to assign guardianship—a process _you_ bypassed completely. You likely ignored the wishes of his late parents, as well. After all, what self-respecting parents would want their child raised by _muggles?_ There are serious concerns about endangering the welfare of a child…and perhaps even…kidnapping?”

“AHA!” Fudge shouted, leaping from his seat. “She’s right! And we’ve got it straight from your own mouth, Dumbledore! With no magical next of kin, Potter should have been made a ward of the Ministry and put up for adoption. Even if the muggles qualified, there should have been a Wizengamot hearing to confirm it…And you _knew_ it as Chief Warlock!” Many students _and_ teachers gasped.

That was a surprisingly strong argument, coming from Fudge. It wasn’t _true_ , of course, but you had to read the fine print to see it. Albus had still had his wartime powers at the time, which legally allowed him to bypass the regular process for the sake of Harry’s safety. But it was a legal grey area because there really _should_ have been a custody hearing after his wartime powers ended. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to explain that.

“Highly irregular,” Percy agreed. “In violation of multiple laws and procedures. Definitely probably cause for a kidnapping case, sir.”

“That’s it! Dawlish, Shaklebolt, arrest him!” the Minister roared triumphantly. Wands were drawn around the Hall.

“No!” McGonagall yelled over shouts of indignation from her students. “Minister, this is outrageous!”

“We’ve got his confession, Professor,” Fudge insisted. “It’ll be better if you stay out of our way. Albus Dumbledore, you are hereby relieved of your position and placed under arrest. I must have to ask you to surrender your wand and accompany the Aurors quietly.”

The Aurors moved against Dumbledore, and that was where it came apart. A few members of the D.A. stood up and drew their wands with a shout. This set off a chain reaction with some of the older Slytherins drawing their wands, then the teachers, then more Gryffindors. Harry hadn’t anticipated this reaction, and he was suddenly very worried about what would happen. Tactically, a mass duel in the Great Hall was a very bad situation—

_“SILENCE!”_

Everyone stopped and looked up to the High Table to see Dumbledore standing up with his hands raised. He looked angry—angry enough even to stop Fudge and the Aurors.

“I will not see my school turned into a battlefield,” he said, his eyes seeming to fall on everyone in the Hall in the same instant. Not even Fudge dared to interrupt him. “The loyalty of many of you to me is admirable, but this is not the way. Violence will only lead to more violence…Unfortunately, it appears that I have overstayed my welcome. This is a highly unusual situation, but it is unavoidable. Rest assured, though, my loyalty will always be to Hogwarts, and I am confident that I will be able to return in time. Until then, I will leave you in Professor McGonagall’s capable hands. I expect you to respect her as you would me.”

“Yes, well, thank you for dealing with that problem, Dumbledore,” Fudge said awkwardly. “Now, if you’ll come with the Aurors—”

“Ah, I think we have a slight misunderstanding, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said, raising one finger. “I said I would go. I never said I would go with the Aurors.” He winked, and now, Harry was sure he was winking at him: “Remember, help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

Suddenly, there was a flash of huge red and gold wings over Dumbledore’s head accompanied by the cry of a large bird, and the great wizard vanished in a pillar of fire. A wind blew the two Aurors back along with everyone else who was standing near him as he disappeared from sight. Many of the students cheered, while a majority just stared open-mouthed in shock.

“Phoenix travel!” Fudge exclaimed, and he muttered to himself, “Slippery old goat.”

“Well, you may not like him, Minister, but you’ve got to admit, Dumbledore’s got style,” Kingsley said.

Plenty of Dumbledore’s fan grinned, but Fudge scowled: “Style and an arrogant streak a mile wide. Dawlish, copy Weasley’s notes and put out the word to search for him. We’ll get him yet!”

“Yes, sir,” Dawlish said eagerly. He soon left, leaving Kingsley to watch over Fudge and Percy, who was continuing to take notes on the situation.

“How dare you!” McGonagall cried. “Driving the Headmaster from the school—”

“I merely brought his past crimes to light, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge spoke over her loudly enough that she must have used a _Sonorous_ Charm. “You should be concerned for yourself, going along with this plan of Dumbledore’s. Very suspicious. And we have so much more to cover.”

“You got what you wanted, Dolores!” McGonagall said with a sound of fighting back tears. “Dumbledore’s gone. Just leave it be.”

“Oh, no, no, no, Professor,” Umbridge said with her poison smile. “We’ve barely scratched the surface. Kidnapping is a serious charge by itself, but to see the full depths of the harm Albus Dumbledore has caused, we will need to read the next chapter. And that’s not all. There is serious mismanagement of Hogwarts that this book will reveal, which must be dealt with swiftly. And moreover, Mr. Potter has continued to spout his lies despite repeated correction, and I think it’s only appropriate to show his fellow students just how unbalanced his unfortunate upbringing has made him. They should be fully informed of the inaccuracy of his tales, don’t you think, Minister? I’ve already cleared the entire morning.”

“Oh, that sounds very interesting, Dolores,” Fudge said. “This activity has been so informative already; I’d very much like to hear more.”

“And there you go,” she agreed. “Perhaps you would you like to do the honours, Professor McGonagall, since you are the next most senior teacher? I have a copy of the book just for you.” _In other words,_ _don_ _’t bother trying to burn it or anything._

“You cannot be serious, Dolores,” McGonagall snapped tearfully. “After what you’ve just done?”

“It would be in your interest to cooperate, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge said in a far more menacing tone than usual. “I can always have the Aurors read it if you don’t want to.”

And she was cornered. He tears turning to anger, she said, “Oh, give me that,” and swiped the book from her hands like a cat. Finding the place on the page, she read the final paragraph, ending with the toast that had been on everyone’s lips that night: _“‘To Harry Potter—the boy who lived!’”_


	2. McGonagall: The Vanishing Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Minerva McGonagall belongs to JK Rowling.

Minerva took a deep breath. She could _feel_ the shock permeating the Great Hall. Her feline sensibilities made her hair stand on end at the sheer tension in the air. Albus Dumbledore had been nearly arrested—for _kidnapping_ —and fled the school in front of the entire student body. And worst of all, she wasn’t entirely sure the Minister was wrong.

Her hands were shaking as she looked down at the book. How was she supposed to respond to this? Dumbledore had been a fixture at Hogwarts since the Great War, Headmaster for four decades. True he’d been forced out for a few weeks during the Chamber of Secrets debacle, but nowhere near so publicly. She might not be safe herself right now, and worse, _that woman_ was forcing them to read out all of poor Harry Potter’s secrets to the world. She didn’t want to know how the boy would react.

“Well, Professor McGonagall?” Umbridge said.

“J-just…orienting myself, Dolores,” she managed. Minerva looked at the cover of the book. With Albus gone, it fell to her and eventually Severus to learn as much as they could about it. The illustrated dust jacket was present; it showed a young Harry standing in front of the Hogwarts Express at platform Nine and Three-Quarters, but nothing else remarkable. The author wasn’t a name she recognised and was probably a pseudonym. The publisher was supposedly Bloomsbury, which she vaguely recognised as a muggle firm, but that wouldn’t make sense, would it?

She flipped the pages as slowly as she dared without annoying Dolores. Hopefully, the front matter would have some useful information. It didn’t tell her much, except that it appeared professionally printed with all the minutiae of a muggle book. Perhaps it was meant to be printed as fiction? Or perhaps it was a disguise to throw them off the author’s scent.

Then, she saw the copyright page, and she nearly fainted from shock. The copyright date was 1997: next year. Normally, she would have simply said the date was a hoax, even with her being one of the few people authorised to know about Time Turners. But the author knew so many things she shouldn’t have been able to know, it seemed like it might be a _more_ likely explanation that the book was written in the future.

“Hem hem. Is there a problem, Professor?” Dolores asked.

“N-not at all, Dolores,” Minerva choked out. “I was just finding my place.” Sadly, there was no table of contents to see the chapter headings, so she turned back to the second chapter and began to read: _“Chapter Two: The Vanishing Glass._

_“Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all.”_

The Dursleys, it seemed, were as boring as ever, but Minerva grew nervous as signs of trouble quickly appeared. _“The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house too.”_

Whispers circled the Great Hall again. After the first chapter, people could start putting the pieces together, but most of them weren’t happy to hear it confirmed. Harry paled quickly. He just _knew_ his home life was about to be revealed in the worst possible way, and with Umbridge watching over the Hall, he was powerless to stop it.

Aunt Petunia soon woke up the ten-year-old Harry in the book and ordered him to help cook breakfast for Dudley’s birthday. _“Dudley’s birthday—how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after…pulling a spider off one of them…?”_ McGonagall’s bad feeling suddenly got a lot worse. _“…put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cu…_ Albus, you senile old buffoon!” she shouted in spite of herself. The Great Hall collectively gasped. Professor McGonagall had just insulted Albus Dumbledore in front of the entire school. Umbridge’s and Fudge’s eyes widened, and they grinned with anticipation. “Dammit, you had to drive him off, didn’t you? We needed to _talk_ to him, not throw him out of the school.”

“Oh?” Fudge said with a knowing smile. “Talk to him about what?”

“Minister, I must protest again,” she said. “This is material of an extremely private nature, and it should not be revealed in public.”

“And I’m afraid I must again overrule you, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge said. “This material is essential to proving the disturbed state of Mr. Potter’s mind.” And then, to Minerva’s horror, she opened up a second copy of the book, found her place, and finished the sentence: _“Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.”_

The Hall was in an uproar. Harry himself sank down in his seat in shame. His friends tried to surround and protect him, but even they were only partially helpful because they were also staring at him in horror. He had never told anyone that aspect of his life. He wanted to evaporate on the spot.

“Harry, is that really true?” Hermione whispered with an uncomfortable look on her face. Harry could only nod. The reactions from the rest of the school were varied. Many of the Slytherins and sadly a few of the other houses started shouting anti-muggle comments. Snape was frozen, staring at Harry with wide eyes. The snippets of memories he’d picked up in Potter’s Occlumency lessons hadn’t been enough to piece together the pattern, if he had even wanted to see it.

Umbridge, however, was loving it. She was feverishly taking notes, and she looked over to Fudge and said, “Looks like we’ll have a few more counts on that neglect case, Cornelius. I wonder, Professor, did Dumbledore know Mr. Potter was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs? Oh, don’t try to deny it. Just look at him. It’s written all over Mr. Potter’s face.” Harry sank even lower in his seat.

“I…I don’t know,” Minerva said weakly.

“Did he ever send someone to that house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he ever once check on the boy he placed there himself? In ten years?”

_“I don’t know, Dolores!”_ she shouted. “He said he was keeping an eye on Harry, but I don’t know what that meant…I don’t know if I know anything anymore.”

“Well, then, I think those are questions that will need to be answered, don’t you? Shall I continue?”

“I can’t stop you, can I?”

“Certainly not, but it would be in your _interest_ to cooperate,” Umbridge said. _In other words_ , she meant, _put yourself on record reading it or else._

McGongall sighed and considered her options. She was very close to refusing to participate in ruining Harry’s life on principle, but it was so easy to rationalise. It was going to happen anyway, and her other students needed her. And maybe, just maybe, if she was the one reading, she could keep control of the discussion. She looked down at Harry and she was surprised by what she saw: determination. There was a look in his eyes that said, _Do it!_

Harry was mortified by all his dirty laundry (literally, in the case of the socks) being aired out to the world like this, but as he thought about it again, he realised that maybe it was worth it. If these mysterious books stayed accurate up through the end of first year, they would prove that Voldemort wasn’t dead. If they were accurate through third year, they would prove Sirius’s innocence. And if they were accurate through the end of last year, they would announce Voldemort’s return to the world and show Fudge for the incompetent he was. And with that thought, he collected himself and glared up at the High Table. He glared at Umbridge and Fudge, the great schemers who thought they were winning, and he did his best to communicate his intent to McGonagall. _The truth will out,_ he thought, _and it will destroy you. You_ _’ll be caught like rats in your own trap._

Minerva hadn’t expected that reaction from Harry Potter, but she was smart enough to connect the dots. She only hoped it would work. Slowly, she raised the book from her lap and started reading again: _“When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen…”_

“Harry, why didn’t you tell anyone?” Ron said.

Harry was grateful that Ron, his siblings, and Hermione were clustered around him, shielding him from the frantic questions of the rest of Gryffindor, but he could tell they were bursting with questions themselves. He shrugged. “They moved me to the spare bedroom after I got my letter. It wasn’t so bad after that.”

“Except when they locked you in your room,” George pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was the worst of it, and it was just the one time.”

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione said tearfully. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

“Well, it’s not like I was trying to let anyone know, Hermione,” he replied.

“Harry, you don’t understand. My parents are _dentists_ ,” she said. “They’re mandatory reporters. People like me are supposed to be able to spot abuse.”

“It wasn’t really abuse.”

“It was at least emotional abuse, Harry. Don’t you try to deny it.”

“Fine, fine, but it’s in the past,” he protested. “This is a good thing.”

Ron gawked at him. “Are you mad?” he said. “Dumbledore’s gone! They want to lock him up for kidnapping you.”

“Well, yeah, _that_ _’s_ not, but if the book is accurate, it won’t be for long.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s gonna talk about Voldemort being back.”

Harry’s friends’ eyes widened, and they turned back to the High Table. Ginny and the Twins got wicked grins on their faces. At the High Table, Harry noted that Percy was staring at him, looking uncomfortable (as were many of the other teachers). Meanwhile, McGonagall was still trying to take control of the situation.

“Dolores, if we’re going to play this game, perhaps you should be more concerned with arresting Mr. Potter’s relatives,” she said. “They’re the ones who actually abused him, after all.”

“That _is_ a good thought,” Fudge said. “Muggles abusing a magical child? Bad business, that. They boy’s lucky he didn’t suffer damage to his magic. Make a note of that, Weasley. We’ll have to do something about them, too.”

“Yes, Minister, I quite agree,” Percy said enthusiastically. “We can’t allow criminals like them to roam free. Good idea, Professor.”

“Don’t think _you_ _’re_ off the hook either, Mr. Weasley,” Minerva said just loud for him to hear.

“Very well, we can deal with that when we’re done here,” Umbridge said. “Please continue, Professor McGonagall.”

Minerva grunted in acknowledgement and kept reading. Albus would have tried to stop her doing that, she thought, but she didn’t regret it. She knew about the blood wards, but if they could get Potter legally removed from his relatives, she was confident the Order could keep him safe. Unfortunately, this chapter painted a grim picture. Harry was regularly punched by his fat, spoilt cousin, was told that his parents had died in a car crash. ( _“And don’t ask questions.”_ ) And he was regularly berated for the hopeless state of his hair, though he apparently liked his scar.

“You actually _liked_ your scar?” Hermione said.

“Before I knew what it meant, yeah, I did,” Harry replied. “I thought it looked cool.”

“Huh…” Hermione was starting to wonder how much she really knew her best friend.

Dudley’s birthday party was, to put it succinctly, a debacle. To start with, Dudley, who looked like a “pig in a wig” (that line got plenty of laughs), was disappointed to “only” receive thirty-six birthday presents— _“two less than last year”_.

“Ha! And you say _I_ _’m_ bad, Potter!” Draco Malfoy called out.

“That will do, Mr. Malfoy,” Umbridge said before Minerva could take points. Minerva glared at both of them, but she resigned herself and continued reading. A temper tantrum from Dudley was quickly averted as Petunia showed her parenting skills left much to be desired by upping his presents to thirty-nine.

“Atrocious parent,” Minerva said loudly enough for the students to hear. “ _Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly,_ _‘So I’ll have thirty…thirty—’_ Dear Merlin.”

“He _cannot_ be that stupid,” Ron said.

“No—well, he’s pretty stupid,” Harry said, “but I think that was mostly laziness and working himself into a fit to get his way.” Indeed, the book soon explained directly that Dudley was smart enough to manipulate his parents to get anything he wanted, but just the same, Harry got to go to the zoo with the rest of the party since the Dursleys couldn’t find a sitter.

“What’s a zoo?” one of the younger Gryffindor’s asked.

“A menagerie,” Hermione said absently. Many of the muggle-borns were already having to explain Dudley’s muggle presents to their pureblood friends.

_“‘I’m warning you,’ he had said, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry’s, ‘I’m warning you, boy—any funny business, anything at all—and you’ll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas.’”_

“They didn’t!” Hermione gasped.

“Not literally,” Harry assured her. “He meant I’d have to stay there whenever I didn’t have to be somewhere else. They couldn’t keep me out of school or anything. It wouldn’t look good.”

“They let you out to use the bathroom, right?” Ron said.

“Of course they did,” he said, rolling his eyes. “They _did_ try giving me a bucket once, but they couldn’t stand the smell after two days.”

That didn’t instill his friends with confidence.

Fortunately, it appeared that the young Harry was experiencing a healthy level of accidental magic, which was a concern for abused magical children: regrowing his hair when it was cut, shrinking an ugly sweater so he couldn’t wear it, and Apparating onto the school roof (which impressed Minerva and the other teachers). Although it didn’t help that Umbridge hemmed and told Percy to make a note of each incident. Harry was also, surprisingly, not afraid to speak his mind.

_“‘I had a dream about a motorbike,’ said Harry, remembering suddenly. ‘It was flying.’_

_“Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beetroot with a moustache, ‘MOTORBIKES DON’T FLY!’”_

Fred and George laughed. “Man, you had guts as a kid, Harry,” Fred said.

“Maybe not brains, but guts,” George added.

“Yeah, well, it’s how I dealt with them without going mad,” he replied. “I just had to be quick enough to get out of their way.”

The book reported that trip to the zoo went fairly well, to Harry’s own surprise, until they came to the reptile house, where Harry began talking to a large snake.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Umbridge interrupted. “The _Daily Prophet_ reported last year that Mr. Potter is a Parselmouth, but I’d say it’s rather worrying that he was already using a dark ability before he was formally introduced to magic.”

“Yes, worrying,” Fudge agreed. “Definitely not normal.”

“Honestly, Dolores, he was a ten-year-old boy. Ten-year-old boys aren’t evil,” Minerva said. Well, maybe You-Know-Who was, but she didn’t say it.

“Oh, you’ll see soon enough, Professor McGonagall,” Dolores replied. “Read what he did next.”

“Well, I won’t keep us in suspense, then, Dolores,” she grumbled. She really hated the woman’s smug face when she apparently already knew what was about to happen. After interacting with the snake for a minute, Dudley came back and shoved Harry out of the way to look at the snake again, but then, she smiled to see what the boy had done. _“Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor—people throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits._

_“As the snake slide swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, ‘Brazil, here I come…Thanksss, amigo.’”_

“Well, Minerva, what do you think about that?” Umbridge demanded.

“A very impressive display of accidental Vanishing,” she said unflinchingly. “It’s too bad I can’t give points for it.”

Umbridge fumed, but didn’t say anything. Unfortunately, in the story, Piers Polkiss outed Harry to the Dursleys and got him thrown back in the cupboard: _“Go—cupboard—stay—no meals.”_

“No meals?” Hermione said in horror.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Harry said. “That would only last a day or two. They were scared of doing anything to me that other people would notice.”

Hermione harrumphed and crossed her arms. “You’re too accepting of these things, Harry,” she said.

The mood in the Hall grew more subdued when it was revealed that Harry could remember the green light from his parents’ deaths, although he didn’t understand it. That would at least get sympathy for him, though. It turned out that he wasn’t quite as isolated from the wizarding world as they thought, too. Witches and wizards would occasionally approach him in the muggle world (perhaps by chance) and shake his hand, including one man who sounded suspiciously like Dedalus Diggle. But that didn’t help him the rest of the time, when his “family” never had a good word to say about him, and Dudley’s “gang” (What ten-year-old had a gang?) discouraged any other children from befriending him. It was quite a depressing picture.

Fudge smugly stood up and made a show of approaching Minerva with his hands behind his back once she finished the chapter. “And now we see the consequences of Dumbledore’s failure,” he said. “The Savior of the Wizarding World treated like a common house elf. It’s no wonder he turned out so unbalanced.”

“Harry Potter is one of the sanest people I know,” Minevra replied. “He has thrived despite his unfortunate upbringing.”

“But you can’t deny the mismanagement, can you?” Fudge shot back. “After all, the DMLE gives home visits to vulnerable magical children, and Mr. Potter clearly never received one. Dumbledore wouldn’t tell anyone where he was, and he _clearly_ never looked in on him himself. And you gave him strong evidence that it was not an idea home environment. That’s criminal negligence in my book. Dolores, was there anything else?”

Merlin’s beard, when did Fudge get that smart? Minerva wondered. But she knew the answer: Umbridge was behind everything.

“In terms of criminal charges, I think we’ve covered the main points, Minister,” Umbridge said. “However, the ensuing chapters will reveal further evidence of the Headmaster’s mismanagement here at Hogwarts, so I’m sure this will continue to be very enlightening. Professor Flitwick, would you be so kind as to read the next chapter for us?”

“Are we _really_ continuing with this farce?” Flitwick demanded.

“Certainly, Professor,” Fudge said. “This has been very informative so far. We should keep it going.”

And he was cornered. But Minerva had gone ahead and kept reading. That didn’t seem like her. He gave her an enquiring look, and she jerked her head towards the Gryffindor Table. He looked down and saw the look on Harry Potter’s face. The boy actually wanted it? Filius Flitwick couldn’t understand that, but for the moment, he was willing to trust Minerva’s judgement. “Oh, very well,” he conceded.


	3. Flitwick: The Letters From No One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Filius Flitwick belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> So apparently, the concept of a mandatory reporter doesn’t exist at all in Britain. Thanks to fredfred for pointing that out. I’ll have to think about what to do about that.
> 
> Yes, it’s true that for this genre to work at all, a few things have to be contrived: Umbridge’s failure to read all the way through the book, her desire for a public reading, everyone’s acceptance of the truth of the story. To truly make it a strict realist interpretation would take many chapters of investigation and fact-checking, which are really beyond the scope of the plot, but that’s why I listed Parody as one of the genres. Or maybe it’s more of a reverse parody: it’s a fundamentally silly premise taken seriously.

Filius quickly flipped through the front matter of the book and scanned the text. He also noticed the muggle publisher and future copyright date, but he didn’t dwell on them. Minerva was probably already planning to slip a message to Albus in secret, and Albus probably knew a lot more than he did already and was ironically in a better position to investigate them now that he was on the run. As much as he didn’t like airing out one of his student’s secrets, the worst of the damage was done (he hoped), and Minerva and young Harry seemed to have a plan (he hoped even more). Anyway, he knew he was could do more to help his students in school than out of it, so he started reading.

 _“Chapter Three,”_ he began, _“The Letters From No One._

 _“The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started—_ I do hope you’re taking notes on this as well, Auror Shacklebolt.”

“Naturally, Professor Flitwick,” the Auror replied, and Filius noted with satisfaction that Weasley was scribbling it down, too. Maybe the boy wasn’t a total loss after all.

Down at the Gryffindor Table, Harry answered his friends worried looked with, “I still went to school, and it was the last week anyway.”

Unfortunately, Filius noted, the end of primary school was no respite for the Harry in the book, who had to suffer through Dudley’s “gang” and their favourite sport: Harry Hunting. The good news was that they would be going to different schools in the autumn: Dudley to an expensive private school with an atrocious uniform where they apparently liked to whack each other with sticks, and Harry to the local comprehensive, whatever that was.

And then, Harry received it: his Hogwarts letter. He could feel the Hall holding its breath in anticipation of the moment Harry would learn the truth and tear the Dursleys a new one.

_“Mr. H. Potter_

_“The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_“4 Privett Drive_

_“Little Whinging_

_“Surrey”_

Noticing glares directed at certain teachers from the students, Minerva cut in, “For the record, the school letters are addressed automatically. No one would have taken a close look at them before giving them to the owls.”

Filius narrowed his eyes. He seemed to remember of bit of trouble with the letters that year, so he didn’t expect things would be quite that easy. Alas, his suspicions were proved correct when the Dursleys took the letter away from Harry before he could read it. Both Vernon and Petunia seemed terrified at the thought of Harry finding out the truth, not just angry. Interesting. Not surprising, but interesting.

Hermione gave Harry a funny look at the Gryffindor Table. “Why would they just send you a letter?” she asked him. “Professor McGonagall came to explain things in person to me.”

“They assumed I already knew about magic,” he said. “Aunt Petunia _did_ know, so they figured she’d tell me.”

“Even though she hates you?”

Harry shrugged. “That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have told me, especially with the accidental magic and stuff. Sometimes, I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out for myself. Did you?”

“I knew _something_ strange was going on,” she said, “but the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with me, and my parents convinced themselves that they just imagined anything that defied the laws of physics.”

“Huh, so pretty much the opposite of the Dursleys. They knew what was going on, but pretended it wasn’t.”

“I guess.”

The Dursleys tried to pass the letter off as someone writing to the wrong address, which was the lamest of excuses given that it was addressed to Harry’s cupboard, and even more so because it scared them enough that someone was watching the house that they decided to give Harry the spare bedroom—correction, one of _two_ spare bedrooms—the one filled with Dudley’s broken toys and unread books. (“Now, that’s just ridiculous,” Filius said.)

 _“Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He’d screamed, whacked his father with his Smeltings stick, been sick on purpose, kicked—_ ahem _—kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof and he still didn_ _’t have his room back._ By Ragnuk! If I’d done half of that at his age, my mother would have had me shovelling dragon dung at Gringotts for a week!”

“I’ll see what we can do, then, Professor,” Kingsley said with a smile.

“Hem hem,” Umbridge cut in, “interesting goblin punishments aside, I believe we should move on.”

Filius rolled his eyes and kept reading. He’d thought Dudley was spoilt before, but this was just absurd. The next day a second letter came, this time addressed to Harry in “The Smallest Bedroom”, starting a three-way fight between Harry, Dudley, and Vernon over it, which Harry lost. The day after that, Harry took the initiative and tried to camp out early to get the post first. This didn’t go so well either.

_“AAAAARRRGH!”_

“Filius! What is it?” McGonagall said.

“That’s what the book says, Minerva: _AAAAARRRGH!_ ”

“Honestly, Filius,” she groaned as the students laughed.

Filius grinned and kept reading. Harry had stepped on his uncle, who had been so desperate to stop Harry from receiving his letter that he had slept in front of the door. After receiving not one, but _three_ letters that day, Vernon boarded up the mail slot, on the theory that if it wasn’t possible to deliver the letters, the wizards would give up.

_“‘Oh, these people’s minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they’re not like you and me,’ said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruit cake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.”_

The Weasleys roared with laughter, along with much of the Great Hall. Hermione snickered a little, but she was one of the few who weren’t so enthused. “But wasn’t your aunt the one who actually lived with a witch?” she asked.

“Yeah, but I think she deliberately refused to learn anything about us,” Harry said.

“Well, they’re being idiots,” Ron said. “Even I know _we_ _’re_ the stubborn ones, not muggles.”

“It’s not putting muggles in a very good light,” Hermione huffed.

“Hermione, it’s impossible for the Dursleys not to make muggles look bad,” Harry said. “Just listen to Flitwick. This’ll be great.”

Hermione folded her arms, but even she couldn’t help laughing when twelve letters came the next day, stuffed through the cracks around the door. Vernon then boarded up all the cracks around both the front and back doors.

“How were you supposed to get in and out?” Hermione said.

Harry shook his head: “They weren’t really in their right minds at that point.”

On Saturday, twenty-four letters came rolled up inside two dozen eggs passed in through the window.

“Is that automatic as well, Minerva?” Filius asked shrewdly.

“The second letter was,” McGonagall replied. “When it became multiple letters, however, I suspect that was Albus’s doing.”

“Why didn’t you just go meet Mr. Potter in person?”

“Albus didn’t tell me it had grown that serious. I was busy with muggle-born visits that week, and I assumed he had it in hand.”

“Quite a waste of time and resources,” Umbridge said. “This ridiculous posturing of Dumbledore’s certainly did Mr. Potter no favours and only served to make everyone look foolish.”

“I quite agree,” Fudge said. “I see what you meant about mismanagement. The silly old man routine is hardly suitable to run a school.” Percy looked like he agreed, but even he couldn’t keep from laughing at the Headmaster’s antics.

On Sunday, Vernon’s hopes of no post were dashed when thirty or forty letters shot out of the fireplace. They then packed their bags and began driving randomly around the country, trying to “shake ‘em off”, much to Dudley’s horror. The next morning, a hundred letters were delivered to the front desk at their hotel in Cokeworth.

“Cokeworth?” Snape cut in in surprise.

“That’s what it says Severus,” Filius said.

“But that’s Lily’s and Petunia’s hometown! They won’t ‘shake us off’ there.”

“Oh? You knew Lily Potter, Professor Snape?” Umbridge said.

“Lily Evans at the time. And we were the two best potions students in our year,” he said smoothly. “I could hardly avoid becoming acquainted with her.”

Harry’s eyes bugged out as he stared at the High Table: “My mum was a potions expert?” he said.

“You didn’t know?” Hermione said.

“No, Sirius and Remus never mentioned it. They mostly talk about Dad. Ollivander said she was great with Charms, but no one ever mentioned Potions.”

“Do you think that’s why Snape always sounds so annoyed with you?” Ginny asked. “Cause you’re not as good?”

“I don’t know…But why would he? He’s a Death Eater and she was muggle-born.”

“I dunno. Some people are just weird,” Ginny said.

Most of the students were laughing by now. By Monday night, even Petunia and Dudley had realised that Vernon was out of his mind, but they still didn’t try to stop him. They finally wound up in a rundown shack on a rock in the North Sea that was only accessible by rowboat in the middle of a storm. They had no electricity, no fire, and almost no food, and even that didn’t dissuade Vernon Dursley from his quest to escape the mysterious letters. Filius couldn’t figure out why the shack was even _there_ , let alone what Vernon was planning to do next, nor could anyone else. The Harry in the book could only wait for his birthday, which was the following day. But when midnight came—

 _“BOOM,”_ Filius shouted loudly.

“Ah! What on earth, Filius?” McGonagall said.

“That’s what it says, Minerva: _BOOM. The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in._ _”_


	4. Sprout: The Keeper of the Keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Pomona Sprout belongs to JK Rowling.

“Hmm, cliffhanger ending,” Filius mused.

“Well, no reason to stop now,” Umbridge said. “Professor Sprout, I believe you’re next.”

Pomona sighed and said, “If I must.” The day was pretty much shot already, and it wasn’t like things could get much worse—for Hogwarts or for the unfortunate Mr. Potter. She took the book and turned straight to the next chapter. _“Chapter Four: The Keeper of the Keys,”_ she said. _“BOOM.”_ Actually, that _was_ kind of fun.

Hagrid burst into the hut, upending the Dursleys’ quiet little world forever. Oh, he was perfectly polite, despite tying Vernon’s rifle into a knot, but he was also eleven feet tall, and his sheer bulk made everything he did a big disruption. Harry was completely clueless as the giant of a man wished him a happy birthday, lit a fire with magic, and started cooking sausages.

“Excuse me,” Umbridge interrupted. “I don’t believe you’re qualified to perform magic, Hagrid.”

“Well, I, er…” Hagrid stammered.

“Please make a note, Mr. Weasley,” Umbridge spoke over him. “We don’t want someone so irresponsible in a position of power at Hogwarts, do we?”

“Irresponsible?” McGonagall said. “Honestly, Dolores, any first-year can light a fire. A bit of harmless bending of the rules especially in a potentially dangerous situation in nothing to worry about. Anyone else would get a slap on the wrist for a good deal worse.”

At the Gryffindor Table, Hermione was shocked at her favourite teacher being so cavalier about the rules (despite not following them much herself lately). Most of her friends were grinning. _Go, McGonagall_ , they thought.

“Oh, we’ll see what Mr. Hagrid is truly capable of very soon, Professor McGonagall, don’t you worry,” Umbridge said with a smile. “By the way, why was Hagrid sent at all? Aren’t you the one who usually does student visits?”

“The Headmaster thought sending Hagrid was appropriate,” McGonagall said uncomfortably. “I wrongly believed that Mr. Potter would be aware of magic, so I did not think it would be a problem.”

“But wouldn’t the need to send literally hundreds of letters to Mr. Potter reveal the flaw in that thinking?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up with the Headmaster—if you can find him.”

“Oh, we will. And Hagrid, did Dumbledore explain to you why you were to find Mr. Potter and not Professor McGonagall? You did know he was not receiving his letters, after all.”

“Well, I’d known Harry since he were a baby,” Hagrid said. “Nothin’ bad would happen ter him with me around. Besides, Dumbledore thought I’d be more intimidatin’ if there was any trouble.”

“Ah, I see, and let’s see how that worked out, shall we? Professor Sprout, please continue.”

Pomona gave the Groundskeeper a sympathetic look. _Sorry, Hagrid_ , she thought, and she kept reading. Unfortunately, the conversation devolved as Hagrid forgot his politeness in his fury at the Dursleys keeping Harry in the dark about everything. Not that the Dursleys were helping matters.

_“‘We swore when we took him in we’d put a stop to that rubbish,’ said Uncle Vernon, ‘swore we’d stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!’”_

Students and teachers alike gasped. Rarely did wizards actually encounter a magic-hating muggle in real life in this day and age, and Vernon Dursley fulfilled all the worst stereotypes. To try to stamp the magic out of someone wasn’t just abuse, and dangerous, it was almost sacrilege.

“Mr. Weasley, Auror Shaklebolt,” McGonagall said, “I do believe another arrest warrant is in order. If we have to listen to this, we might as well get _some_ good out of it.”

“I’ll…I’ll submit everything for review,” Percy said. Harry noted with some satisfaction that he was looking more and more uncomfortable up there.

Pomona quite agreed with that sentiment. Petunia apparently hated her sister and thought she was a freak, and she took it out on Harry, which raised further shouts of indignation from the Great Hall. The majority of the school was cheering Hagrid through the scene, but Hermione saw trouble coming.

“Harry, I think she’s gunning for Hagrid, too,” she whispered.

“How? He did a little bit of magic and yelled at them some. What’s so bad about that?”

“Wasn’t there something about him giving your cousin a pig’s tail?”

“Well…”

“He could get in a lot of trouble for that if she plays it up,” Hermione insisted, “and I hate to say it, but she has a point about him being the wrong person to send.”

“Hagrid’s great, though,” Harry protested.

“He’s a very good friend, Harry,” Hermione said, “but you have to admit, he’s not exactly the best person to introduce you to the magical world.”

Harry thought about this for a minute. There were some definite gaps in what Hagrid had told him, not least about how to get on the Hogwarts Express, and he couldn’t legitimately show Harry magic like he was supposed on a home visit. Maybe he _wasn_ _’t_ the best choice. He felt it even more acutely when Hagrid began his clumsy explanation about the war and the fate of Harry’s parents. (Pomona felt oddly proud of herself when she had less trouble saying Voldemort’s name than Umbridge had.) Harry had been so shocked at the time and so desperate for any information about his parents that it was more than enough for him just to know, but looking back, Hagrid had left out a lot. Heck, he hadn’t even known Sirius existed until he escaped from Azkaban.

“And there’s another thing,” Hermione pointed out. “Why didn’t anyone check on you for those ten years? Why didn’t Dumbledore keep better track. I mean, it’s like Umbridge said— _ugh_ —but she’s right: he at least knew you weren’t getting your letters that week. Why didn’t he do something more proactive about it?”

Harry thought about this for a minute and was forced to come to the same conclusion. “I hate to say it, but that’s a pretty good point,” he admitted. “Even if they thought I knew about magic, I still wasn’t getting my letters. Why didn’t they suspect something?”

“I think we need to add it to the list,” she said, and she quickly scribbled out some new questions:

  1. _Why did no one ever check on Harry at the Dursleys?_



“They did, though,” Harry corrected. “Mrs. Figg was there.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She scribbled out the question. “But then…did Dumbledore _know_ you were being mistreated there?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “I—She…said she was a mean babysitter because she knew the Dursleys wouldn’t leave me at her house otherwise. Bloody hell, he _did_ know! At least some of it.”

“That’s horrible!” Hermione hissed. “I mean, that actually _is_ illegal—or at least it should be.”

“What, you’re taking the Ministry’s side now?” Ron said too loudly.

“Shh. Ron, I’m bloody well not on Fudge and Umbridge’s side, but if Dumbledore really _was_ breaking the law—”

“But we _need_ Dumbledore, though,” Ron countered. “He’s the only one You-Know-Who’s afraid of.”

Hermione worried her lip in indecision. Ron was right: they _did_ need Dumbledore. But with what he might have been doing…“We need to get to the bottom of this,” she whispered. “Something is definitely rotten in the state of Britain, and it goes deeper than Fudge.” She tried to articulate her questions again:

  1. _Why was Harry placed with the Dursleys (known magic haters)?_
  2. _Why was no action taken on reported mistreatment of Harry?_
  3. _Why was Dumbledore so obtuse about Harry_ _’s letters, including sending Hagrid?_



They were interrupted from their thoughts, however, when Sprout began shouting the capitalised words in the book: _“‘I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!’ yelled Uncle Vernon.”_

There was loud jeering and shouts of indignation from many of the students at the insult against Dumbledore, but Pomona raised her hand before they could cause too much trouble with Umbridge. She glanced over and saw Hagrid looking murderous at the memory alone. Everyone fell silent, waiting to hear how he reacted.

_“But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, ‘NEVER—’ he thundered, ‘—INSULT—ALBUS—DUMBLEDORE—IN—FRONT—OF—ME!’”_

And then he gave Dudley a pig’s tail.

The students laughed. Even Pomona couldn’t help but chuckle, but her danger sense was twigging. She turned and saw that Umbridge looking smug again, and that was not a good sign.

“My, my, giving him a pig’s tail,” she said in her simpering voice. “And by his own admission, trying to turn the poor boy _into_ a pig. Remind me, Minerva, at what level is human transfiguration taught?”

Minerva groaned quietly and answered, “Sixth Year.”

“And Hagrid, in what year were you expelled from Hogwarts?”

Hagrid mumbled something unintelligible.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

“I said Third Year,” he growled.

“In other words, you were far from qualified to attempt that spell, even if you _were_ allowed the use of a wand. Minister, this is more than a simple case of muggle-baiting. This was a serious assault. Hagrid could have done permanent harm to the boy doing magic like that. And as we will see later, it was also a breach of the Statute of Secrecy, as the Dursleys were forced to inform their muggle Healers about their son’s condition in order to correct it. Even muggles wouldn’t be so foolish as to miss something like that.”

“Yes, that’s it!” Fudge said. “Dumbledore’s been covering for you for years, Hagrid. That ends today. Shacklebolt! Arrest him!”

Many of the Gryffindors stood up and protested. Fudge and Umbridge had been losing control of the room for a while. It was only Minvera and the other Heads of Houses that were keeping it together, and Pomona was starting to wonder whether it was worth it.

“I WILL. HAVE. ORDER,” Umbridge yelled shouted, which was only partially effective. However, the other Heads halfheartedly acted to silence the crowd.

Kingsley stood up and surveyed the scene when they had quieted down. “That would be ill-advised, Minister,” he said as calmly as you please.

“Why?” Fudge demanded.

“One Auror against a half-giant? Even if he doesn’t have a wand, that’s a fool’s errand.”

“Then go get a squad and come back for him—”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Hagrid roared. “You’re not takin’ me, yeh great lump!” He bounded from his seat, “accidentally” knocking Fudge’s chair over on the way, and stomped out of the Great Hall, fleeing for the Forbidden Forest over the shouts of the other teachers and students.

Fudge looked stunned as he got back to his feet. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he snapped. “Get a squad and go after him!”

“He’ll be deep in the Forest by the time I get back, Minister,” Kingsley said. “He knows the place better than we do. We’ll never find him in there. If you like, when Dawlish returns, you can send him to fetch an increased guard to make sure he does not return. However, you called _me_ here to act as your bodyguard, and I see no reason to run off on a wild Niffler chase.”

Fudge’s mouth opened and closed a few times, unsure what to say. Finally, he stammered out, “Oh, fine. He’s gone; that’s the important thing. One more thing we can fix up about this place. Well, go on. Keep reading, Professor.”

Pomona shot a nasty glare at Fudge, but she was pretty well stuck. She looked out at the students. Many of them appeared to be in shock. First Dumbledore and now Hagrid gone in the space of one morning. She frantically thought back to try to remember if there was anything _she_ _’d_ done that she could get in trouble for—or Minerva, or Filius. Severus…well, she wouldn’t admit it out loud, but getting rid of Severus would be an improvement. With no other option, though (at least none that would let her keep her job), she had to keep reading.

_“‘Be grateful if yeh didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts,’ he said. ‘I’m—er—not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin’.’”_

“Tsk tsk,” Umbridge cut in. “Conspiracy with Mr. Potter to cover up his lawbreaking…”

“I…” Pomona quickly skimmed the last couple paragraphs in the chapter. She had to do something. Umbridge was going after Harry now. “Now wait a minute, Professor Umbridge,” she said. “According to the book, Mr. Potter never actually agreed to cover up Hagrid’s actions, nor did he have any legal duty to report him.”

Umbridge exchanged a look with Fudge, who looked disappointed, and with Percy, who gave them an apologetic shrug. “Fair enough,” Umbridge said. “We’ll have much more to learn about Mr. Potter soon enough.”

“Phew, that was close,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, remind me to thank Sprout when this is over,” Harry agreed. He was starting to have second thoughts about this whole thing.


	5. Snape: Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Severus Snape belongs to JK Rowling.

Severus Snape didn’t let his emotions show on his face, but he was probably in more shock that most of the students this morning. Albus and Hagrid had been driven out of the castle in the space of an hour—something that Umbridge woman had been trying to do for months. True, he appreciated the discipline she was imposing on the school, but she and Fudge were dooming them all long term. This was going too far.

When Pomona handed him the book, he examined it as quickly as he could. He flipped through the initial pages, saw that it was a muggle publisher, saw the copyright date that had so disturbed Minerva. That would theoretically explain where the information came from, but it raised a lot more questions.

As he tried to collect his emotions, he bought some time with, “I feel I must repeat Filius’s request: are we _really_ continuing with this farce?”

“It is hardly a farce, Professor Snape,” Umbridge replied. “We’ve already seen how vital this information is. We would be remiss in our duties if we did not see it through.”

“I fail to see why we need to read this juvenile rambling to the entire student body.”

“As I said before, Professor, it is the fastest way to correct the lies that have been told to them and the public.”

“Quite so,” Fudge agreed. “Hogwarts has been the centre of misinformation thanks to Potter and Dumbledore. It’s only right that we begin publicly correcting the lies here as well.”

“Minister, we’ve just lost two of our staff!” Minerva protested.

“That will be handled soon enough, and the rest of you have nothing else to do this morning,” Fudge shot back. “We’ll need to restructure anyway. We might as well take care of all of it at once.”

And what did he mean by that? More firings coming? Severus wondered if there was any incriminating evidence against him in the book. Albus had always protected him, but he was gone now. What about the other teachers? Sadly, it didn’t look like he was getting out of this anytime soon. They would all just have to push through it, at least until Umbridge let them out of the Great Hall. Some days, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed. _“Chapter Five: Diagon Alley,”_ he grumbled.

_“Harry woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight._

_“‘It was a dream,’ he told himself firmly. ‘I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes, I’ll be at home in my cupboard…’”_

His voice trailed off. Oh, _that_ had hit too close to home. Harry Potter sounded more like a young Severus Snape in that moment than James Potter had in his whole life.

He should have seen the signs.

“Ahem,” Umbridge said. He kept reading, using his Occlumency to separate his thoughts from the words on the page.

Granted, Potter did a good job at hiding it. He was short and scrawny, yes, but so was his father. He didn’t have trouble making friends, or at least, the ones he was close to stuck by him. He was socially well-adjusted and—there was no other word for it—snarky. He really didn’t initiate human contact, but he didn’t seem averse to it, at least from Granger and the Weasley brood.

But Severus knew specifically how to spot the signs of abuse, and if the book was accurate—and Albus seemed to think it was—Potter had led anything but a charmed life. He wasn’t as badly abused physically as Severus had been, but emotionally, it seemed hard to believe, but it might have been _worse_. And even if he’d otherwise missed the signs, he _definitely_ should have put the pieces together from Potter’s abysmal Occlumency lessons.

Of course, he knew why he hadn’t; he hadn’t _wanted_ to see the signs. And now…he thought might actually resent Potter _more_ for having overcome the abuse so well when he himself had been so badly screwed up, but contrary to popular belief, Severus did have enough humility to reserve judgement and wait to hear what the rest of the book said—if they ever got that far without turning the school upside-down. Unfortunately, that still left the big question: what was he going to do now?

Albus had left one instruction: _Make sure she reads all the way to the end of the book_. He had anticipated that Umbridge might use the book to force him out (which was concerning in itself), but he believed that the full story would vindicate him. That told Severus two things: first, Albus believed the book was accurate and would record Quirrell’s and the Dark Lord’s actions faithfully, and second, Umbridge hadn’t read the whole thing. There was no way she would do this if she knew that it confirmed the Dark Lord’s return.

Severus thought both of those assumptions were dubious. The smart thing to do would be to start making contingencies in case Dumbledore’s “plan” went off the rails. Searching for where the book came from would be pointless. However, finding out where _Umbridge_ had got it might be doable. He had some capital with her, and he doubted she knew Occlumency. He would also need to start laying the groundwork to discredit the book if it turned out to be an elaborate trap. And as for the Dark Lord…He would know what _he_ thought soon enough. Hopefully, a short message that he was investigating and attempting to mitigate any damage would suffice for now. In the meantime, he needed to prepare for himself. If Dumbledore was _right_ about the book _(books?)_ , Severus might not be able to show his face in Britain for a while.

As he read, he learnt that, contrary to Pomona’s belief, Harry did explicitly agree to cover up some of Hagrid’s magic use, but in that particular instance, it was mostly harmless: _“‘If I was ter—er—speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin’ it at Hogwarts?’_

_“‘Of course not,’ said Harry, eager to see more magic.”_

“Wait a minute,” Hermione said to Harry. “If Hagrid flew in and took the boat out, how did your relatives get off the island?”

“I think the owner of the hut got worried when they didn’t come back the next day and went to get them,” Harry replied.

Ginny got a confused look on her face and said, “How did he fly to the island, though? No broom would be able to carry him, and it couldn’t have been the motorbike because it wasn’t there.”

Everyone stared at each other. There was no sound except for Snape’s droning. No one seemed to have an answer.

“Fawkes could have done it,” Harry said. “I don’t know if he would’ve, though.”

Hermione considered adding it to her list of questions, but she decided to just jot it down in her notes, since it wasn’t as important.

_“Passers-by stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harry couldn’t blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, ‘See that, Harry? Things these muggles dream up, eh?’”_

Severus stopped in disbelief. Were wizards raised in the magical world really _this_ ignorant? Even Hagrid, couldn’t be _that_ clueless, could he? “Minerva, as much as I hate to agree with Professor Umbridge, sending Hagrid into a muggle area was a disaster,” he said. “Not only is he incapable of not drawing attention to himself if he tried, but I’m surprised the train could support his weight.”

He could tell Minerva wanted to defend Hagrid, but he was oddly pleased to see that no words were coming to her—and with good reason. He wondered how much trouble it had been for the Ministry to clean that up.

It also didn’t help when Hagrid mentioned how much he wanted a dragon.

Surprisingly, he thought, Potter took being mobbed by admirers in the Leaky Cauldron in stride—not basking in it, but not cringing away from it either. Then, Severus had to suppress his emotions yet again at reading about Professor Quirrell. That was going to be a mess.

“Huh, I don’t think he was possessed yet,” Harry said.

“How come?” asked Hermione.

“He shook my hand without turning to ash. And he wasn’t wearing the turban yet.”

“Huh. That does raise the question, though…” She added to her list:

  1. _Did Dumbledore know he_ _’d hired a follower of Voldemort to teach DADA?_
  2. _Why did Dumbledore tolerate Quirrell_ _’s clearly dangerous presence?_



In the book, Hagrid moved Harry along from the Leaky Cauldron to Gringotts. For most witches and wizards, this was old hat, but Harry’s wide-eyed description was a fresh look. Even Hermione didn’t experience the wonder she once had in the Alley after having been there enough times. There was, however, one bit about the bank that got her attention.

_“‘If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,’ said Griphook._

_“‘How often do you check to see if anyone’s inside?’ Harry asked._

_“‘About once every ten years,’ said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.”_

“That’s not right!” Hermione hissed. “They shouldn’t be allowed to use lethal countermeasures. There should at least be an alarm on the vault.”

“They’re goblins, Hermione,” Ron said. “That’s how they do things.”

“That still doesn’t make it right.” She started to at that to her list of questions as well, but she thought better of it and started a new list of those that weren’t of immediate importance, adding it below the one about Hagrid.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Ron said. Harry nodded in agreement.

 _“In the back of the shop,”_ Snape described Harry’s visit to Madam Malkins, _“a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.”_

“That was Malfoy,” Harry told his friends, and from the description, it wasn’t hard for everyone else to figure it out soon enough. Neither Harry nor Malfoy learnt the other’s name in that encounter, but the Harry in the book was left with a distinctly negative impression of him despite not being directly insulted. No one had much to say about that, though, since everyone knew Malfoy could get much nastier.

Severus noted how inadequate Potter felt about not knowing anything about the magical world. He really needn’t have worried, since muggle-borns never knew anything entering the magical world either—although it also wasn’t an uncommon feeling for those muggle-borns. Nonetheless, the brat was much more in awe at the displays of magic around him. Gloomily, he remembered Lily’s own wide-eyed wonder when he first told her about magic…

It was good to see old Ollivander was just as creepy as ever, if a little too intrusive, talking about the Dark Lord’s wand like that…He stopped.

“Is there a problem, Professor Snape?” Umbridge said.

There was, of sorts, but it would be unwise to say it himself. He looked down the table to his colleagues, and Filius made the connection: “It seems Ollivander knows You-Know-Who’s identity.”

“That’s hardly relevant,” Umbridge bristled.

Not to her, Severus thought, but it was significant and potentially useful to the Order (if Albus didn’t already know). Not many people _did_ know the Dark Lord’s true identity, and far fewer were willing to admit it. If Ollivander could be persuaded to confirm he was back…but that was a matter for later.

“That was rude of him,” Neville said to Harry. “He ought to have known that would make you uncomfortable.”

Harry shrugged, not letting it bother him: “It was more the way he was acting that got to me. He’s kinda creepy.”

Hagrid blatantly lied about not using magic, but Ollivander ignored it and got to Harry’s wand matching. Most everyone smiled, being quite familiar with the wandmaker’s eccentricities. It took rather a lot longer than usual, though, and Harry _did_ grow concerned when he remembered how his visit to Ollivander had ended.

 _“‘I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—’”_ Severus stopped seeing what sensitive information he was about to release. Albus wasn’t here to intervene if he thought it was going too far. He looked to Minerva, but she was no help. She might not even know. He had to make this decision for himself—if he could even stop Umbridge at all. The Dark Lord already knew of the connection between the wands, he reasoned, so there was no threat there. Would it hurt Potter’s reputation further, making people see him as a rising dark lord instead of just a liar? Actually…no, it probably wouldn’t. That wasn’t how wizards thought. This could work. _“‘—just one other,’”_ he continued. _“‘It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother—why, it’s brother gave you that scar.’”_

A quiet gasp rippled through the Great Hall. “Wow, I didn’t know that,” Neville whispered.

Harry’s head dropped to the table with a thud, and he groaned softly. “Everyone’s gonna think I’m evil now, aren’t they?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ron said casually.

“Yeah, haven’t you ever read the old stories?” George agreed. “Twin wands in the hands of bitter enemies? That’s a classic. Everyone knows You-Know-Who’s the evil one, so that makes you the good one.”

Harry looked up. “Seriously? In muggle stories it would mean I was following in his footsteps or something.”

“Eh, muggles. What do they know?” Fred said.

_“‘I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter…After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great.’”_

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I really don’t think Ollivander’s helping.”

“I’m with Harry,” Hermione agreed. “What was he thinking saying something like that to an eleven-year-old?”

“But now he can finish filling out his tragic hero card,” George said with a grin.

“Well, sort of,” Fred corrected. “To really do it right, the wise old mentor has to die at the end of the first act, and that’d be bad for everyone, so…maybe don’t.”

“Gee, thanks,” Harry grumbled.

_“The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but he blinked and Hagrid had gone.”_

“Aha! So not only did Hagrid perform multiple acts of illegal magic, conspicuously assault a muggle, and deliver a decidedly substandard introduction to the magical world,” Umbridge said, “but he also abandoned an eleven-year-old boy on an unfamiliar train and expected him to get home safely.”

“I’m more concerned that he didn’t tell Harry how to get onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters,” Minvera said quietly. Hagrid really _hadn_ _’t_ been a good choice for that job. “However, he’s already gone, Dolores, so the point is…hardly relevant,” she echoed. “Incidentally, it is growing close to lunch time. I suspect we don’t have time to read another chapter, especially since the next most senior teacher is Professor Binns.”

Umbridge checked her watch. “Quite right, Professor McGonagall, and I’m sure the Minister has other business to attend to. Attention everyone,” she called out to the students. “Lunch will be served shortly, and the teachers will distribute shortened schedules for the afternoon. We will resume this public reading tomorrow promptly at nine o’clock.

The reaction to that wasn’t too bad from most of the students. The story was actually very interesting. That was no comfort to Harry, though.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had not been idle in the hours since he left the castle. He had been thrown from his own school, but there was much more he could still do, and his first order of business had been to figure out where that twice-damned book had come from. He was very lucky that both Minerva and Severus had got a close look at it, and each had sent him a message that afternoon. If the book was truly from the future, that was troubling in a number of ways, but he needed to check to be sure. He started at Grimmauld Place.

“Dumbledore?” Molly said in surprise when she met him at the door. “Is something wrong?”

“A great deal, I’m afraid, Molly. Your children are safe at Hogwarts, but we have a far more serious problem.”

“What? What is it?” she said.

“Could you call Sirius and Remus, please? I have some questions for you.”

“Well…alright. Come in; we’ll meet in the kitchen.”

The three of them assembled quickly—the only Order members in the house right now, and coincidentally the three he most wanted to talk to. There were other possibilities—Arthur especially—but they seemed the most likely if Harry himself wasn’t involved.

“What’s wrong, Albus?” Sirius asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I will explain, but first, I have some questions. Things have happened that I do not understand, and I hoped you could shed some light.” That certainly got their attention. “Do you know which room Harry slept in at his relatives’ house?” he said.

Sirius shook his head: “Haven’t had much time to talk to him about things like that.”

“Me neither,” said Remus.

“I think he mentioned something about his cousin’s spare room?” Molly said in confusion. “Why?”

Nothing about the cupboard, then. And they would be in for a shock if this hit the newspaper, as he expected it would. “In a moment,” he said. “Did Minerva ever tell you about the night we dropped Harry off there?”

“What? No,” she said. “Or nothing important, at least.”

“Did something happen to Harry?” Sirius demanded.

“Not directly, no,” Dumbledore said. _Or not recently, anyway_. “The situation is far more complicated. Umbridge has made a move we did not anticipate, using information she should not have had. I have been ousted from the castle.”

“Ousted?!” Molly gasped over the men’s shouting. “You mean, she got you sacked? But the students—”

“Minerva is still there, and I am hopeful that she will remain there. Unfortunately, Umbridge uncovered some of my past mistakes, and she and the Minister used them against me.”

“You said information,” Remus said. “Do you mean…?”

“Someone has been revealing secrets. Secrets that are harmful to the Order, to me, and especially to Harry. They have not yet reached the _big_ secrets, but I fear it is coming if I cannot track down the source of the leak.”

“Okay, that’s bad,” he said.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied. Well, that settled it. They weren’t involved—at least not in the present. They didn’t seem to know the requisite information _now_ , but an Order member or group of Order members working together in the future could conceivably do it. Little else made sense. But that didn’t explain how the book had got a year or more back in time. Could the intent have been benevolent? While the book revealed some hard truths, if it recorded everything faithfully, it could ultimately be beneficial so long as it did not reveal sensitive information like the prophecy. He just didn’t have enough to go on right now. If he knew more of the circumstances of how Umbrige acquired it, he might have enough information to take action, but until then, all he could do was wait and hope—and prepare for the worst.

“How much trouble is Harry in?” Sirius asked.

“Beyond the obvious, that is?” Remus added.

“Physically, very little. Mentally, however, I fear he had relieved quite the shock. His relationship with his relatives was publicly revealed.”

“Ouch,” Sirius groaned. Though he didn’t know about the cupboard, he knew enough about the Dursleys to get that it was bad.

“Yes, and moreover, there could be legal trouble for him further down the road if we do not play things carefully,” Dumbledore added.

“Albus, where are these secrets coming from?” Remus demanded.

“An unauthorised biography of Harry’s life. Not written by Rita Skeeter. Rather, one that describes his life at Hogwarts in a stunning level of detail and accuracy. I am trying to ascertain where it came from, but I am having no luck.”

“A biography?” Sirius said in confusion. “Is it that bad?”

“I’m afraid he has already had a number of personal secrets revealed. He will probably be wanting to talk to you soon, although given your limited mobility—”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he interrupted. “I gave him a communication mirror. He can call me any time he wants.”

“Except he hasn’t called you at all yet, has he?” Remus pointed out.

“Hmm, you’re right. I wonder why he hasn’t used the mirror.” He growled slightly. “If I could just ask him about it—but we need the mirror for that. Any way we can look into it, Moony?”

Remus thought for a bit: “I think I have an idea.”

* * *

Harry was the talk of the castle all afternoon. It wasn’t as negative as it had been before, given the new revelations about him, but he didn’t much appreciate the mawkish sympathy half the school was shoving his way. Honestly, he was over it. And most of the teachers were even worse than the students, though they at least didn’t have much time to talk to him. He mostly stayed out of people’s way except for Ron and Hermione, but after classes ended, Hermione insisted they needed to get answers right away (with which he agreed), so the three of them made their way to Professor McGonagall’s office.

She opened her door, and Harry said, “Professor, we need to talk.”

McGonagall nodded firmly: “Indeed we do, Mr. Potter. Come in. Come in.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their seats, and Hermione pulled out her list of questions. However, before they could get started, McGonagall removed her glasses and rubbed her forehead wearily. “Before we begin, Mr. Potter, I want to say that I can’t tell you how sorry I am about my part in the ordeal you’ve suffered,” she said. “I made several very serious mistakes regarding what Professor Dumbledore did with you. If there is anything I can do to help you, I will make every effort.”

Harry did his best to answer calmly: “I’d really rather never have to see them again. Otherwise, I just want to put the past behind me.”

“Very well,” she nodded. “If it is my decision to make at the end of the school year, consider it done. Unfortunately, with the way things are right now, I can’t guess what the situation will be next week, let alone months from now.”

“I understand, Professor. So what’s up with the book?”

“I wish I knew Mr. Potter. The book recorded things that I was quite certain only Professor Dumbledore and I knew, but it also recorded things that I’m pretty sure neither of us knew. I presume everything you heard was accurate to the best of your knowledge?”

All three of them nodded.

“But how could it have been written?” Hermione said. “Legilimency?”

“It’s theoretically possible, Miss Granger, but that is not our leading theory,” she said. “Professor Dumbledore is an expert Occlumens, and I know enough to notice if I’m being read. No…I’m only telling you this because you three have experience with time turners…Professor Snape and I believe that the book is from the future.”

“The future?” Hermione said with wide eyes.

“Yes, we got an up-close look at it. The publication date is listed as 1997. It appears to have been printed by a muggle publisher under a pseudonym. If it was truly written in the future, that would be the easiest way for the author to learn all of the secrets it contains.”

“But if it was a muggle publisher, wouldn’t that violate the Statute of Secrecy?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, although if it were published as fantasy, it would not attract much attention.”

“Hmm…Can you tell me the author’s name? I can ask my parents to search through muggle databases.”

“I suppose, although I doubt they’ll turn up anything. It was J. K. Rowling.”

Hermione made a note of that on her parchment while Harry asked the most important question: “How did Umbridge get the book?”

“I have no idea. I was as surprised as you are by this whole mess…You have questions, I assume?”

“I wrote them down, ma’am,” Hermione said, handing over the parchment.

McGonagall read the questions over, frowning as she moved down the list. They didn’t paint her and Albus in a very good light, but they were definitely important. Skipping the first three, as she had already told them all she knew, she took a deep breath and started talking. “Number four: why Professor Dumbledore claimed not to know how Mr. Potter had survived…I’m afraid I can’t answer that. The Headmaster keeps far more secrets than you know, and not all of them for good reasons in my opinion.”

“He knew at the end of my first year,” Harry said. “After the thing with Quirrell.”

McGonagall flinched as she remembered that would probably come out in the book. “Earlier than that, Mr. Potter. I’m afraid he _did_ know that very night.” she said. “And that ties into the next question; that one I _can_ answer, although I did not learn the true reason until last summer. Professor Dumbledore may not approve of me telling you, but I think we’re past that point now. There is a protective charm that he placed on you, Mr. Potter, the day after you were taken from your parents’ home. I don’t fully understand it. I can’t even tell you whether he found it in some ancient tome, or he invented it himself. You will remember that your mother’s protection prevented You-Know-Who from touching you when he confronted you through Quirrell?”

Harry nodded.

“Professor Dumbledore has explained to me that this charm extends that protection to the place where you live, so long as you are living with a blood relative of the one who saved you.”

“Oh…” Harry whispered. He leaned back and slowly nodded in understanding. “And the only choice was Aunt Petunia,” he said.

“Yes. As long as you are living with your relatives, You-Know-Who cannot cross the property line. If you spend a minimum of several weeks per year there, they are protected even when you are absent, and the house is available to you as a safe-house. The charm will last until you turn seventeen.”

“But you’ll keep him out now, Professor?” Ron spoke up.

“If I can, Mr. Weasley. The protections on Headquarters should be more than adequate. I hope that is a satisfactory answer for you, Mr. Potter. At the time, when many Death Eaters were still at large, I would have even said it was necessary if I knew about it, although I would have reevaluated it later.”

“I think I understand, ma’am,” Harry agreed. “I still don’t want to go back, though.”

“Quite understandable.”

Hermione had been surprised and even a little amazed at this revelation, but her feelings quickly shifted back to anger as thought about it. “That still doesn’t explain why no action was taken with the Dursleys when Mrs. Figg _knew_ he was being mistreated,” she reminded them.

“Unfortunately, I fear only Professor Dumbledore himself knows that,” McGonagall replied sadly. “I was not aware of Mr. Potter’s treatment, or I would have had a frank discussion with his relatives, at the least. I can only guess that he wanted to ensure the greatest chance that Mr. Potter would be able to remain there safely, but I still consider it a serious mistake on his part. Not enough to arrest him, mind you, but enough that I will be keeping a closer eye on him from now on.”

“And the letters? And Hagrid?” Harry asked.

“Mind, it _was_ pretty funny,” Ron chimed in.

“Funny, but counterproductive, Mr. Weasley. Another thing I can’t hope to understand. The foibles of an eccentric old man, perhaps. And as for your final questions, Quirrell was _not_ possessed when the Headmaster hired him—or rather, rehired him, as he had been the Muggle Studies teacher before that. I’m afraid I don’t know when he figured it out, but I suspect it was late enough that he decided, since Quirrell had not hurt anyone yet, he could safely wait and keep a closer watch on him and hope the curse would deal with him at no cost to us.”

“Bloody hell! Wasn’t that dangerous?” Ron said.

“Certainly, but it was also _exactly_ the kind of thing the Headmaster would do. I’m sorry to say I expect there will be further trouble for him if and when that decision is revealed. I do wish I had better answers for you three, but that is the way it is. Now, did you have any other questions?”

The trio looked at each other, and Harry asked one last thing: “What do we do now?”

“I’m afraid there is very little we _can_ do at this point, Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore is already investigating and trying to mitigate the damage. If you can uncover any relevant information, bring it to me at once. Otherwise, do not let yourself be alone with Umbridge or in any other position where you could be arrested. _Do not_ get detention with her. I will protect you from punishment for any that happened before this year, but I can’t do much after. And if you simply need to talk about what happened, I and several of the other teachers will be available to you at any time.”

“Erm, thank you, Professor,” he said awkwardly. “Maybe not right now, but…thanks.”

* * *

“So we use the emergency override to force the connection and shine a light through it,” Remus explained.

“And we can at least see what’s on the other side,” Sirius agreed. They connected to Harry’s mirror and took a look. The other side appeared to be a sheet of brown paper. “But that’s the paper I wrapped it in! He never even opened it?” he said, sounding betrayed.

“Well…maybe he was worried you’d put yourself in danger if he called you for help?” Remus tried to cheer up his friend.

“I…I don’t know. Maybe. I just wish I could talk to him about it.”

“You’d have to get his attention first, though. And no other way of getting a message into the castle is safe.”

“I know. It’s just…Wait a minute!” Sirius perked up with a smile that signalled an imminent prank. “Molly, I need your lungs!”

* * *

Harry was lying in bed that night, trying to process everything that had happened, when he heard a strange sound. Looking around for its source, he found that, impossibly, it seemed to be coming from his trunk. And it sounded eerily like Mrs. Weasley shouting into a pillow.

_“HARRY JAMES POTTER, YOU OPEN THIS THING UP RIGHT NOW!”_

“What the hell?”


	6. Binns: The Journey From Platform Nine and Three-Quarters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Cuthbert Binns belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> I can see why so many people try to write these fics. They’re so easy to write because you’re following a script…but they’re even easier if you do the sensible thing and cut the chapters down to size.

Professor Snape made sure to meet the High Inquisitor before breakfast the next morning. He was surprised that she hadn’t declared herself Headmistress yet, but he supposed that with things still in flux, she had decided that could wait. Depending on how long these books were, it could take weeks before everything was sorted out. He had more pressing matters, though.

The Dark Lord was pleased with Dumbledore being ousted from the castle, but he was apparently as baffled as everyone else about the book about Potter and was concerned about what else it might reveal. Snape had reported back that he was investigating thoroughly, which was true, although he left out the part about the book being from the future and a few other critical details. Right now, he had to learn something for Albus.

“Good morning, Professor Umbridge,” he said.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” she replied.

“I wanted to talk to you before breakfast starts, given what happened yesterday,” he got to the point. “Are you planning on continuing your little disruption today?”

“I most certainly am. We have a lot of ground left to cover. Do you have a problem with that?”

“I am concerned that _you_ might. As much as I appreciate your efforts to clean up the school—Merlin knows it needs it—you are playing a dangerous game.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Professor Snape?” Umbridge said suspiciously.

“I mean that Dumbledore and his followers are not to be underestimated. They are very shrewd. Besides that, as an academic matter, as far as bad influences on the school go, I can think of several who are worse than Dumbledore.”

“The Minister and I respectfully disagree,” she said with a voice that carried very little respect under the surface. “And I was under the impression that you didn’t think very highly of the Headmaster yourself.”

Snape answered as lazily as he could manage: “I find myself torn. I may not have agreed with Dumbledore on much, but I did owe him my job, such as it is.”

“And you’re concerned about your position here with him gone?” Umbridge asked. “You’re a competent teacher, Professor Snape. You passed your review with little trouble. I think there should still be a place in this school for you, as long as you understand which side you’re on. Although perhaps I should ask which side that is?” she added threateningly.

“My own, of course,” he said without missing a beat, and Umbridge giggled knowingly. “But I have never sided against the Ministry in that time. I even rendered personal aid to the Minister during the Sirius Black affair.”

“Aha, so you did. It makes it so much simpler when a man knows where he stands, doesn’t it? Rest assured I don’t anticipate any trouble coming for you anytime soon.”

“Thank you for that assurance, then, Professor Umbridge. I take it your performance yesterday has made some waves?”

“Certainly, and I expect today to further reinforce our new position.”

“That book has been an uncommonly good windfall for you, hasn’t it?” he said idly.

“It has indeed. So many problems solved so quickly. It’s been a true godsend.”

“May I asked how you acquired it?” Snape asked.

Umbridge smiled her sickly sweet smile: “I’m afraid that will have to stay a Ministry secret for now.”

“Really?” he tried to salvage it the situation. “The Ministry? You’ve been away so little, I would have thought you somehow found it in the castle.” This was it. He drew up his magic and sent a wandless Legilimency spell at her, trying to read her thoughts about where the book had come from…

And ran smack into an Occlumency shield.

 _Damn. Damn. Damn._ He didn’t think she was that smart. She smiled coyly at him, not giving any indication whether she’d even noticed the probe. If not, he was clear. If she had, he could hopefully play it off as overzealous curiosity.

Her answer to him, though, was not accusatory: “Dumbledore was right about one thing, Professor Snape: help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

* * *

Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall, half-dreading and half-eager for the morning ahead. He had no doubt that Umbridge would make good on her promise to continue her bizarre book reading today. _Harry Potter and the Philosopher_ _’s Stone._ How on Earth had that happened—and from the future? He kept telling himself that it would vindicate him in the end, though, and maybe even more, so he would accept any trouble as it came.

And he’d got quite an earful of trouble last night. Sirius wasn’t too happy that Harry had never called him on that weird two-way mirror thing, although to be fair he’d never actually told him what it was. Harry had expected some kind of magic dog whistle or something. Sirius had been _really_ furious to learn of the Dursleys’ treatment of Harry. Dumbledore apparently hadn’t told him ( _Big surprise_ , he thought), and he’d had to remind him not to go out and curse them on the spot. Sirius had also been shocked to learn that the book was apparently from the future, although he was cautiously optimistic, as Harry was, that it would eventually come down on their side. He tried to ask Harry to take the mirror down to breakfast so he could hear it directly, but Harry insisted it was too great a risk.

By the time he got to breakfast, Umbridge, Fudge, Percy, and Kingsley were already there. Professor Grubbly-Planck was back, looking completely bewildered, filling Hagrid’s seat. Hermione already had her parchment and self-inking quill out, ready to get started. Nearly everyone seemed to be waiting eagerly for news.

Harry shared what Sirius had told him with Hermione, but there wasn’t much else to say that they didn’t already know. Fudge finally stood up at the end of breakfast and briefly addressed the Great Hall. “Good morning. Good morning, everyone,” he said. “We certainly had an exciting day yesterday, didn’t we? I regret to report that Albus Dumbledore is still on the run, but I assure you that you are perfectly safe here. The Auror office is investigating his whereabouts, and we _will_ find him.”

That got mostly angry murmurs rather than approval, but Fudge didn’t seem to notice. “Now, Professor Umbridge informs me we have twelve more chapters of her most fascinating book to read through, so let’s get to it. Professor Umbridge?”

“Thank you Minister. We’ll get started again right where we left off yesterday. Professor Binns, I believe you’re the next most senior teacher?”

The history ghost was sitting in his little-used chair at the High Table, dozing.

“I thought you were the most senior teacher after the Heads of House, Septima,” Professor Grubbly-Plank said to Professor Vector.

Vector shook her head. “No, Wilhelmina. I’m just the most senior who actually _does_ anything. Binns has seniority on everyone in this school, including the Headmaster. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t sack him first, High Inquisitor. We’ve been complaining about him since before I was a student.”

“A matter for another time, Professor Vector,” Umbridge said. “Professor Binns?” she repeated, still getting no response.

“Can Professor Binns even read the book?” Grubbly-Plank said. “He can’t hold it.”

“Don’t you remember him in class, Wilhelmina?” Vector asked. “Most ghosts have some small ability to manipulate things around them. Just lay it on the table in front of him, and he’ll be able to turn the pages—if he wakes up, that is.”

“Professor Binns?” Umbridge said louder, but he didn’t wake. _“Professor Binns!”_ Still no response.

“Allow me, Dolores,” McGonagall said. She threw a wad of parchment through Binns’s head, to laughter from the students.

The ghost blinked awake and stared around. “Huh? Wha? Whassgoinon?” he slurred.

“It’s time for class, Cuthbert,” McGonagall said loudly, setting the book in front of him. “Read this chapter to the students.”

“Oh, right, of course,” he said. “Thank you, Millicent. He immediately started droning as he stared at the page: “ _Chapter Six: The Journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_.” Being Professor Binns, he never once questioned what he was reading. Unfortunately, even with such interesting material, his voice was as good as a sleeping draught. “ _Harry_ _’s last month with the Dursleys wasn’t fun…”_

“Seriously?” Ron said. “This is like the most interesting thing he’s ever read, and he’s still gonna put us all to sleep.”

“Maybe Umbridge will be sensible for once and skip him?” Hermione said hopefully.

“Doubt it,” Harry said. “She audited his class, and she didn’t bother then.”

Harry’s relatives in the book were largely ignoring him during that month, which was better than usual, but still not very good. Luckily, they still grudgingly assented to take him to the train station.

“But didn’t you get home from the train station on your own?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah, but I didn’t have my trunk then.”

“Oh, right.”

 _“‘Taking Dudley to the hospital,’ growled Uncle Vernon. ‘Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings,’”_ Binns droned on.

The ghost was halfway through the next paragraph before Fudge registered what he had said. “Weasley, make a note of that,” he said quickly. “We’ll want to check if the Obliviators took care of that hospital.”

Binns didn’t actually stop reading while he was talking. Things were a little confused in the Great Hall for a minute until people figured out that the Dursleys had driven away laughing after leaving Harry at the train station with no idea how to get onto the platform.

“Spiteful woman, she _knew!_ ” Snape growled.

“What did—Professor Binns, please! What did who know, Severus?” Flitwick asked.

“Petunia knew where the platform was,” Snape said, even as Binns continued reading. “I remember seeing her with Lily at the station when we were students.”

That was also news to Harry, although he wasn’t surprised. He remembered that day well. He’d been terrified he would miss the train and be stranded, although he now knew someone would have come looking for him soon enough. Luckily, the Weasleys had solved his problem for him.

_“‘Now, what’s the platform number?’ said the boys’ mother._

_“‘Nine and three quarters!’ piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand. Mum, can’t I go…’_

_“‘You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. Alright, Percy, you go first.’”_

“Why did your mum need to ask the platform number?” Hermione said in confusion.

“To make sure we remembered—mostly me,” Ron answered. “What, didn’t your folks ever remind you about things—oh, wrong person to ask.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“It’s not like they were undercover or anything,” Harry said. “Percy’s owl was kind of a giveaway. I probably would’ve figured it out just from that.”

“Hm, true,” Hermione agreed. “Come to think of it, how come the muggles don’t notices a bunch of kids coming through with owls on specific days every year?”

Everyone shrugged at that.

The school laughed at hearing about the Weasley Twins’ antics, and Neville turned bright red when the book mentioned him losing his toad. Some of Harry’s friends and even a few students who didn’t know him that well began to get a little nervous about what the book might say about _them_ , although it didn’t look too bad at the moment. The worst they heard was Fred wondering if Harry remembered what ‘You-Know-Who’ looked like.

“Ooh, you heard that?” he said. “Sorry, mate. I guess it’s not really that funny anymore.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said. “I got used to it pretty quick.”

Ron appeared in Harry’s compartment and promptly got a few glares from Hermione for his poor social skills (“I was eleven!” he defended himself), even though they probably annoyed her more than they did Harry. It didn’t help matters when he complained about having to live up to the rest of his family, but before Hermione could say anything about that, they were distracted by something else Binns read.

_“‘I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.’_

_“Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat, grey rat, which was asleep.”_

“Oh, no, that bastard?” Harry groaned.

“Damn! I forgot about him,” Ron said. “I can’t believe I carried him in my pocket for three years!”

“Mr. Weasley!” Umbridge called from the High Table, snapping most of the students out of their Binns-induced stupor. With the quiet in the Hall, she’d finally noticed them talking. “Five points from Gryffindor. Do be quiet, and—Professor Binns, will you stop that?”

 _“—and he told Ron so, all about having to wear Dudley’s old clothes—”_ Binns droned on.

“Professor Binns?”

_“—proper birthday presents. This seemed to cheer—”_

“Professor Binns, will you wait just a minute?”

_“—didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort—”_

“Professor Binns, stop that this instant!” Umbridge snapped.

But even this wasn’t enough to stop the ghost professor. _“—sounding both shocked and impressed—”_

“Oh, honestly! Let me…” Professor Vector stood up, stalked over to Binns’s seat, and grabbed the book away from him straight through his ghostly body. He stopped talking mid-word. “I have the next chapter anyway, I’ll cover the rest of his shift,” she said.

“You know, Dolores,” McGonagall pointed out, “if you want to be a proper High Inquisitor, why don’t you dismiss the one teacher that _everyone_ agrees is completely ineffective? It would earn you some goodwill from everyone involved.”

Umbridge looked to the Minister. “Seeing that display, I’m inclined to agree,” Fudge said.

“Alright, then. Professor Binns, you’re fired,” Umbridge said. That led to both cheers (mainly from the Ravenclaws and Hermione) and groans, depending on how much people relied on that class for their nap time. “Thank you for taking over, Professor Vector.”

“Not a problem, Dolores,” Vector said, though she mainly sounded a little put-upon. _“‘_ You said You-Know-Who’s name! _’ said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. ‘I’d have thought you, of all people—’_

 _“‘I’m not trying to be_ brave _or anything, saying the name,_ _’ said Harry. ‘I just never knew you shouldn’t.’”_

“Wow, I _was_ clueless back then,” Harry muttered to himself.

Professor Vector spent quite some time reading about Harry and Ron sharing sweets from the trolley, making the most mundane conversation sound more interesting than Binns could ever hope to, to just about everyone’s relief. Soon enough, Neville and Hermione showed up looking for Neville’s toad. Or rather, Hermione _was_ looking for Neville’s toad before she got distracted by Ron attempting magic.

_“He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end._

_“‘Unicorn hair’s nearly poking out. Anyway—’”_

“Just a moment, Septima,” McGonagall interrupted. “Do you mean to say that Mr. Weasley was using a secondhand wand damaged enough to have an _exposed core_ for a full year _before_ he broke it.”

Professor Vector skimmed over the passage again and said, “That’s what the book says, Minerva.”

“Merlin, the boy’s a lot brighter than I though. He was lucky to pass first year with a wand like that.”

Ron wasn’t sure whether to be proud or embarrassed by that assessment, especially when the Ron in the book immediately went on to undermine McGonagall’s point by attempting a fake spell George had told him, to laughs from the rest of the school. Meanwhile, the young Hermione sounded even more like a talking encyclopedia at eleven than she did now.

_“‘Whatever house I’m in, I hope she’s not in it,’ said Ron.”_

Ron was quite red by now, and Hermione eyed him with a slightly hurt look. “I changed my mind, you know,” he said. “We’re all sure as hell glad you’re here with us now.”

She smiled a little then: “Well, I should hope so after all the times I saved your bums.”

“Hey, we saved you a couple times too,” he said.

“A _couple_ ,” she replied primly.

The news about Gringotts being robbed might not have been terribly notable on its own when Professor Vector read it, but knowing what they did about what happened that year, the connection was obvious. And even those who weren’t aware of it knew enough about the pattern of fantastic stories to recognise that it was probably-significant event. Nonetheless, it was glossed over quickly, overshadowed by the appearance of Draco Malfoy. The future Slytherin swaggered into the compartment with his minions, making Harry an offer of friendship with “the right sort” of people. This quickly went off the rails when he managed to insult both Ron and Hagrid and throw a veiled threat at Harry himself in the space of a few sentences.

_“Both Harry and Ron stood up. Ron’s face was as red as his hair._

_“‘Say that again,’ he said._

_“‘Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?’ Malfoy sneered._

_“‘Unless you get out now,’ said Harry, more bravely than he felt, because Crabbe and Goyle were a lot bigger than him or Ron.”_

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed. “You were really going to fight him overt that?”

Harry felt a flash of anger, but it blew out quickly. She didn’t know. He leaned close to her and whispered, “Hermione, at that point, Ron and Hagrid were literally the only friends I had—really the only friends I’d _ever_ had. I wasn’t going to let that go.”

Hermione looked like she was about to cry at that revelation, and she grabbed his hands tightly in lieu of hugging him across the table. Ginny _did_ hug him, since she had heard too, or at least she gave him a one-armed hug around his back. “Harry, I never realised!” Hermione said. “How did you get by, growing up like that?”

“I dunno,” he said honestly. “I just kinda did.”

“Hell, how did not turn into a muggle-hating dark lord yourself?” Ginny asked nervously.

“What do you mean?”

“Harry, I remember… _Tom_ ,” she barely breathed the name, “telling me how he grew up friendless in an orphanage. I think that was a big part of what screwed him up.”

Harry _really_ didn’t like being compared with Voldemort like that. He’d been compared with him too many times before, occasionally by himself. “Trust me, Ginny,” he said coldly. “He was screwed up by a lot more than that.”

“I know, it’s just…I’m sorry Harry. I never really knew what it was like for you,” Ginny said softly.

That more or less killed the mood, and they kept listening quietly. Professor Vector continued reading, mainly about Hagrid taking the first years in the boats up to the castle. When she reached the end of the chapter, she kept going without comment, since she had the next one as well.


	7. Vector: The Sorting Hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Septima Vector belongs to JK Rowling.

_“Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat.”_

Septima Vector hadn’t thought much about today’s reading. Certainly, yesterday had been a shock, but today’s so far had been merely light entertainment. She knew enough about Potter’s history with Hogwarts even without having him in class to know that it wouldn’t stay that way, but for now, things in the book were relatively quiet.

And at least they’d finally got rid of Binns. That ghost had been bringing down the school’s reputation for decades. As much she disliked Dolores, Septima really hoped that would stick after Dumbledore’s return (if he had one). Binns himself had barely noticed. He was asleep in his chair again. She wondered if they’d just have to reassign the classroom and leave him to lecture to an empty room.

She smiled as she read about Minerva greeting the nervous first years and explaining about the Houses and the point system. As usual, no one would admit to knowing how the Sorting was done, and Hermione, predictably, was reciting the spells she thought she might need. The ghosts actually scared the kids, which surprised her a little. Any magical-raised child would know about ghosts. Still, she was pleased by the young Potter’s awestruck reaction at seeing the castle and the Great Hall for the first time.

And then, came the Sorting Hat.

 _“Maybe they had to get a rabbit out of it, Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing—”_ Wait, what?” Septima said, nearly sure she’d misread. “Why would you want to pull a rabbit out of a hat?”

“Oh, it’s a muggle parlour trick involving sleight of hand,” Charity Burbage explained.

“Really? How odd,” Septima said. Then she turned the page, and— “Oh, dear.” The entire text of the Sorting Hat’s song was written out for her. “Excuse me, but I am _not_ going to attempt to repeat the Hat’s singing.” She was pretty sure she heard Filius mutter, “Spoilsport,” but she ignored him. She recited the words like poetry instead. Even then, she still got a smattering of applause when she finished.

_“‘So we’ve just got to try on the hat!’ Ron whispered to Harry. ‘I’ll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll.’”_

At the Gryffindor Table, Fred sniggered conspicuously.

The book ran through many of the names of the new students as they were Sorted, sometimes commenting on what happened, sometimes not. Unlike Flitwick and Sprout, however, Vector didn’t shout when the book told her to.

_“‘Granger, Hermione!’_

_“Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head._

_“‘GRYFFINDOR!’ shouted the hat. Ron groaned.”_

“It took longer than that,” Hermione said. “It was considering Ravenclaw for quite a while.”

“Well, I was kinda distracted,” Harry said.

_“A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you’re very nervous. What if he wasn’t chosen at all?? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he’d better get back on the train?”_

“Nonsense!” McGonagall interrupted a little defensively. “That only happened once.” When that got rather more laughter than she had intended, she spoke up louder and added, “Ahem, I meant that on one occasion, a squib managed to sneak into the Sorting Ceremony. However, the Sorting Hat identified him as such immediately.”

Vector nodded and kept reading. Longbottom took a very long time to go to Gryffindor, the book noted, while Malfoy went to Slytherin instantly, surprising no one.

_“There weren’t many people left now._

_“‘Moon’…, ‘Nott’…, ‘Parkinson’ …, then a pair of twin girls, ‘Patil’ and ‘Patil’…, then ‘Perks, Sally-Anne’…, and then, at last—_

_“‘Potter, Harry!’”_

“Who’s Sally-Anne Perks?” Ron asked in confusion.

Hermione smacked him in the arm: “Don’t you pay attention? She was my roommate!”

“She was?”

“Yes, muggle-born, too. She moved after second year.”

It was then that Harry’s friends noticed him staring up at the High Table looking very tense. He’d forgotten about this part. Unlike the rest of the students, the book recorded in detail what the Hat had said to him.

_“Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, ‘Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.’_

_“‘Not Slytherin, eh?’ said the small voice. ‘Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that—no? Well, if you’re sure—better be GRYFFINDOR!’”_

There was no cheering this time as his Sorting was recounted—only a palpable silence. “Crap, they really _are_ gonna think I’m evil now, aren’t they?” he whispered.

“I don’t think it’s that bad, Harry,” Hermione assured him.

“Oh yeah? Everyone knows I’m a Parselmouth, and now I could’ve been in Slytherin, too?” He looked across, and he could already see Malfoy staring at him unhappily, probably for disrespecting Slytherin House or something.

“But you chose Gryffindor,” she insisted. “Or at least ‘not Slytherin’, and besides, Fudge and Umbridge can’t use the Slytherin thing against you. They were both Slytherins themselves.”

“They were?” Ron said in surprise.

“And _this_ is why you need to read more,” she told them in annoyance.

The Sorting finished, and the book went into some detail about the Welcome Feast and a rather unpleasant introduction to Nearly-Headless Nick, along with Neville describing his own harrowing experience of learning that he was a wizard.

 _“Great Uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go—_ Merlin’s beard! That’s got to be illegal, hasn’t it?” Septima said.

“He said it was an accident,” Fudge said lazily.

“Holding him out a window by his ankles, Minister? Auror, you can do something about this, can’t you? That man shouldn’t get away with something like that just because he’s Madam Longbottom’s brother-in-law.”

“I’ll have to check the statute of limitations, Professor Vector, but I’ll look into it,” Kingsley said. “Honestly, some people—trying to force magic out of kids in this day and age…”

Neville had turned very red from all the stares on him, and then turned pale as he realised the implications: “You don’t think they’ll do it, do you? I don’t want Uncle Algie to get _arrested._ ”

“I hate to say it, Neville,” Hermione told him, “but he kind of deserves it for that.”

“It _was_ an accident, though,” he shot back.

“That doesn’t matter! They could have killed you trying to get you to do magic—probably _would_ have if you really had been a squib, even if they weren’t trying to. And your family’s supposed to be one of the _good_ ones.”

“They _are_ good!” Neville protested. “They’re just…”

“Old-fashioned?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Hermione considered responding that Malfoy would probably say the same thing about his family if someone asked him, or at least, a lot of the less fanatical Death Eater sympathisers would, but she suspected that wouldn’t go over very well. She saw that “old-fashioned” attitude from too many purebloods around here, but she didn’t know what to do about it.

_“Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose and sallow skin._

_“It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell’s turban straight into Harry’s eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry’s forehead._

_“‘Ouch!’ Harry clapped his hand to his head._

_“‘What is it?’ asked Percy._

_“‘N-nothing.’”_

“Sure it was, mate,” Ron said knowingly.

“Yeah, that’s what they call a bad sign in basically every story ever,” Ginny agreed.

Harry glared at his friends as they had a laugh at his expense. It wasn’t funny…even if he _did_ have a habit of downplaying his problems like that. But he soon noticed that up at the High Table, McGonagall was glaring at Snape all of a sudden, although what for, he couldn’t guess, as she didn’t say anything out loud.

Regardless, the book didn’t paint Snape in a very good light, though that wasn’t hard, and more unfortunately, Dumbledore was faring little better with Umbridge pulling the strings.

_“‘And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.’”_

“Aha!” Umbridge said. “And just why was something so dangerous allowed in the school? And why such a cavalier warning? That was practically an invitation for students who are too nosey for their own good to go investigate.”

“Excellent questions, Dolores,” Fudge agreed. “Yet more evidence of Dumbledore’s poor and dare I say negligent management of this school. Although I have to ask, what _was_ in the third floor corridor?”

“Oh, you’ll find that out soon enough, Cornelius,” she said. “It’s quite the entertaining story.”

Septima frowned. She _did_ know what was in the school that year, and she knew Dolores would be able to use it against Dumbledore very easily. It was bad enough that he was already on the run, but this would take them that much further from salvaging the situation. But she still had no idea what she could do. She was nearly done with her chapter, so she dealt with that first. She again refused to actually sing the school song, but this time, a few of the students took it up, causing quite the uproar from Umbridge.

“Be quiet!” she shouted. “That inane song makes a mockery of this school. I don’t know why we can’t just commission a melody, at the very least. And you, you, and you—” She pointed to a few students who had been singing the loudest. “Detention tonight!”

That shut up the students at once. Meanwhile, after an encounter with Peeves, the Harry in the book went to sleep, although Septima was surprised when the book recorded a very unusual dream.

 _“—then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, whose laugh became high and cold—there was a burst of green light—”_ Septima stopped and shuddered. That definitely wasn’t Snape’s laugh, and from the look on his face, he knew it, too. _“—and Harry woke, sweating and shaking._

_“He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he didn’t remember the dream at all.”_

“Wait, what?” Minerva gasped. “Say that again, Septima.”

 _“—when he woke next day, he didn’t remember the dream at all,”_ she repeated.

“But that’s impossible! How could the book record something that Mr. Potter himself doesn’t remember?”

Umbridge finally looked a bit nervous for the first time in this debacle. “Magic, I’m sure,” she said.

“Magic my foot!” McGonagall snapped. “I think this calls the whole book into question if it goes on about nonsense like that.”

“Nonsense?” Umbridge said, sounding offended. “After all the secrets it’s recorded that have already proved true? I think not. It has so far been eminently reliable. But I’m sure we can put in some enquiries with the Unspeakables when we’re not so busy if you’re not convinced. I trust that will assuage your concerns, Professor McGonagall?” And then, not waiting for her to answer, she added, “But we need to continue. Professor Babbling, will you read the next chapter, please?”

“As if I have a choice,” the Ancient Runes teacher muttered as she took the book.

“Harry, do you remember that dream?” Hermione asked down at the Gryffindor Table.

“No, nothing. I had no idea,” he said. “I could believe it, but I don’t know for sure.”

“But if even you don’t remember it, how could the author have recorded it, even in the future?”

“I dunno. Pensieve, maybe? Or Legilimency? I hate to say it, but Umbridge is right. It’s been right about everything else. It’s probably right about this, too.”

“But then…if the book knows things that _no one_ should be able to know…” _What do we do about it?_ was the obvious question, but she knew it was one they had no answer to.


	8. Babbling: The Potions Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Bathsheda Babbling belongs to JK Rowling.

Bathsheda Babbling took a moment to look the book over curiously before she started reading: _“Chapter Eight: The Potions Master.”_ Everyone turned to look at Snape, but he appeared as stoic as ever.

“You know,” Hermione said as they heard more of Harry’s first impressions of Hogwarts, “It really does sound like that book is written for a muggle or muggle-born audience. A lot of the things it describes as amazing and fantastical are things that are mundane to people who were raised in this world.”

“So…you think it might be an actual book on the market in the future?” Harry said.

“As opposed to some kind of weird magical construct? I think so,” she replied. “Although I still don’t get the dream thing. But I suppose we’ll find out in a year or so.”

_“Filch found them trying to force their way through a door which unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn’t believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.”_

“Whoa,” Harry said. “He was already sneaking around up there.”

“Not surprising there,” Hermione said. “Actually, I’m more surprised it took him so long to act.”

Filch was not happy about his description in the book: _“The students all hated him and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a swift kick.”_

“That’s it! Detention, Potter!” he shouted.

“Mr. Filch, you can’t give Potter detention,” McGonagall said. She sounded annoyed. “It was four years ago, and he didn’t even write the book!” That got some quiet laughs from the students.

Professors Sinistra, Sprout, Flitwick, and McGonagall were described in a mostly positive light, aside from Flitwick falling off his stack of books, which he took in good humour. The Harry in the book complained about Binns and Quirrell, but that was no surprise. The real kicker, though, was Snape.

 _“At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had got the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he’d been wrong. Snape didn’t dislike Harry—he_ hated _him._ _”_ That didn’t give Bathseda any pause by itself. Probably half the school felt that way about Severus. Even when he singled Potter out in the roll call, it wasn’t too worrying, but when he singled Potter out further for a pop quiz, there was definitely something shady about it.

 _“‘Potter!’ said Snape suddenly. ‘What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?’”_ She paused, puzzled for a moment. “I’m a little rusty, but I _think_ that’s a sixth-year question,” she said

“It is,” Pomona confirmed. “If you’re trying to make a point, Severus, I don’t see it.”

“I don’t believe we need to investigate my teaching style,” Severus replied.

“I think that’s up to the _High Inquisitor_ to decide,” Bathsheda said sardonically. “And whether we need to or not, the book’s doing it.” Though admittedly, his next question in the book was a first-year topic, but it was still the first lesson, and his third was a third-year question. Amusingly, Miss Granger claimed to know the answers to all three.

 _“‘Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?’_ Well, it’s not like he’s required to, Severus,” she muttered just loud enough for the other teachers to hear it. But later, when he berated Longbottom for messing up the potion and injuring himself and then took a point from Potter for not warning the boy when it was clearly Severus’s own job, that was when it was obvious there was a problem.

“Goodness,” Pomona said, not loudly, though some of the students would surely still hear it. “Severus, that _does_ sound an awful lot like you’ve got a grudge against the boy in particular.

Severus rolled his eyes: “I certainly single out students other than Potter, Pomona,” he shot back. “I merely have no patience for arrogant fools.”

“Mr. Potter is neither arrogant nor a fool, Severus,” Minerva argued. “You’d see that for yourself if you weren’t so prejudiced.”

“Potter is arrogant in the extreme, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge countered. “He could use a bit more cutting down to size, and if Professor Snape is willing to do it, I see no problem here. Please continue, Professor Babbling.”

“And you have nothing to say about Professor Snape’s unprofessional behaviour?” Bathsheda asked. “Did that come up at all when you audited his classes?”

“His classes were quite satisfactory.”

“And his unprofessional behaviour towards Mr. Pot—You know what, never mind. Minerva, do _you_ have the power to fire him?”

Snape turned and looked at Minerva expectantly, but Minerva hesitated in considering her decision. “I understand your sentiments, Bathsheda,” she replied, “but I don’t think it would be productive right now. _However_ , Severus, we _will_ be having a discussion about your teaching practises later.”

“If you insist, Minerva,” Snape grumbled.

“Fine,” Umbridge huffed. “Now, if we can get back to the reading…?”

Bathsheda sighed and kept going. Harry and Ron next visited Hagrid, which was nice and uneventful, the worst thing that happened being Hagrid’s inedible rock cakes. She couldn’t help but feel a little relieved that the man wasn’t there to hear his cooking criticised. In any case, Hagrid was evasive when Harry asked why Snape hated him, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. She didn’t doubt that Potter himself knew by now the animosity that Snape had held for his father in their school days. Bathsheda had been a new teacher herself at the time, but she still remembered it well.

The other oddity was the article on the Gringotts break-in that Potter just happened to spot, which revealed that it had just happened to take place hours after he and Hagrid had been there, and Hagrid had emptied that very same vault. That _might_ have been a coincidence by itself, but since this book seemed to be following narrative rules, she suspected it wasn’t. Hagrid was uncharacteristically evasive about that as well.

“Something seems odd about that,” Hermione said to her friends.

“What do you mean?” asked Ron.

“Why was the Philosopher’s Stone hidden in Hogwarts, for one?” she said. “I mean, it was supposed to be safe at Gringotts, so how did they know it wasn’t? I don’t think the goblins would advertise that. And even then, hiding it here it definitely put the students here in danger.”

“Yeah, it did, and that’s not all,” Neville spoke up.

“It’s not?” she said.

“No, that vault wasn’t even the highest security vault they’ve got at Gringotts,” he told her. “Some of the oldest families’ vaults have that goblin finger trick plus a dragon.”

“That’s right,” Ron said. “So why _wouldn_ _’t_ Flamel get the highest security? It’s not like he didn’t have money. He made gold!”

“Good point,” Hermione agreed. “And for that matter, why couldn’t Flamel keep it safe himself?”

“Huh?”

“Well, think about it. Flamel was over six hundred years old. I’d have to look it up, but I’m pretty sure he was older than Gringotts itself. He did just fine protecting the Philosopher’s Stone until then…I need to write this down.”

Harry and Ron chuckled as Hermione wrote down yet another set of questions. Most of these weren’t as urgent as yesterday’s but they were still of some concern regarding what everyone had been doing that year:

  1. _Why could Flamel not keep the Philosopher_ _’s Stone safe when he presumably had before for large parts of six hundred years?_
  2. _Why did Voldemort try to steal it in 1991 and not 1981?_
  3. _How did Flamel and/or Dumbledore know it wasn_ _’t safe at Gringotts?_
  4. _Why wasn_ _’t it under the highest security at Gringotts?_
  5. _Was there really no safer place to hide it than in a school full of children?_



And then, as an afterthought, she added one more, which shocked her friends when they worked through the implications:

  1. _Is Nicolas Flamel really dead?_




	9. Sinistra: The Midnight Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Aurora Sinistra belongs to JK Rowling.

Professor Sinistra took the book next and, like most of the others, gave it only a cursory inspection before beginning to read, having long since accepted that there was no getting out of this. _“Chapter Nine: The Midnight Duel_ ,” she began.

“Mm hmm,” Umbridge said smugly. “And naturally, duelling in the corridors and being out of bed at midnight are both serious violations of the school rules.”

“Except when it’s for _my_ classes, Professor Umbridge,” Sinistra said testily. “Just trying to be thorough since we’re doing everything strictly by the book.”

“Of course, Professor Sinistra.”

McGonagall took that as an opening. “And Dolores, since we _are_ doing things by the book, I remind you that punishments cannot carry over between years.”

“They can if a crime has been committed, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge replied with a smile.

“In which case, I’m sure Auror Shacklebolt will be happy to investigate, but there will be no need to assign detentions or take points for the events described in that book of yours.”

“Very well, if you insist, _Acting_ Headmistress,” she shot back with a dangerous edge to her voice. “Please continue, Professor Sinistra.”

_“Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy.”_

“’Uncle Vernon’s still got him beat, though,” Harry whispered to his friends, but they didn’t take it in the good humour he’d intended it.

 _“‘Typical,’” said Harry darkly. ‘Just what I always wanted. To make a—’”_ Aurora stopped and laughed. _“‘To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy.’”_

Most of the school laughed at that now that they’d seen Harry flying for years with Malfoy usually being the one to make a fool of himself. Harry wasn’t laughing much, though. He didn’t need another reminder about being banned from the sport, but it looked like he would have no such luck as Professor Sinistra was gearing up to recount his eventful first flying lesson. He was, however, pleased when Kingsley coughed conspicuously and made a note when Malfoy mentioned evading helicopters on his broomstick.

Honestly, Neville was more embarrassed than Harry at the moment, as the book seemed to like pointing out his general clumsiness and forgetfulness for comic relief, including his disastrous first flight where he lost control and fell off his broom in seconds and broke his wrist, to mockery from the Slytherins.

“Sorry, Neville,” Harry said.

“It’s okay, Harry. I’m kind of used to it,” he said.

“It’s still not fair. You’re not really incompetent like the book says.”

“Yeah, you’re doing great in the _You-Know-What_ ,” Hermione agreed.

“You don’t have to make me feel better,” Neville insisted. “I know I was a total klutz before this year.”

“You weren’t really that bad,” said Parvati.

_“‘Shut up, Malfoy,’ snapped Parvati Patil._

_“‘Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?’ said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. ‘Never thought_ you’d _like fat little crybabies, Parvati._ _”_

“Merlin, I can’t believe I was ever friends with her,” Parvati muttered.

“You were?” Harry said in surprise.

Hermione nodded sagely: “She and Padma were friends with Pansy before they started Hogwarts. But then they went to different houses, and…”

“And _Pansy_ started listening to what all the other Slytherins said about Gryffindors being reckless and stupid and uncultured and didn’t want anything to do with me,” Parvati said.

“Thanks for sticking up for me, Parvati,” Neville said.

“No problem, Neville,” she told him.

Malfoy jumped on his broom to throw Neville’s Remembrall into a tree in blatant disregard for Madam Hooch’s warning that anyone who left the ground would be expelled, and Harry followed at once. However, while Malfoy was pretty good, Harry was better.

“And yet, Mr. Potter was not expelled for this offence?” Umbridge spoke up.

“Nor was Mr. Malfoy, Dolores,” Professor McGonagall said. “I think we can excuse Madam Hooch a bit of hyperbole in a stressful situation. Although I must admit to being surprised that Mr. Malfoy was the first to flout the rules in this instance.”

Harry wasn’t sure if McGonagall was really surprised by that or was just playing the part, but the look on Malfoy’s face was worth it. He’d been alternately glaring at him and McGonagall for most of the chapter. He smiled as he remembered catching Neville’s Remembrall coming out of a fifty-foot dive, but then he frowned as he made the connection to what happened next.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“McGonagall,” he said.

“What about her?”

He shot her a half-grin: “The same thing you complained about at the time.”

“Oh?” She made the connection. _“Oh!_ Yes, this _could_ be bad.”

_“‘Excuse me, Professor Flitwick, could I borrow Wood for a moment?’_

_“Wood? thought Harry, bewildered; was Wood a cane she was going to use on him?”_

“No, but that’s an excellent suggestion, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge cut in with an evil grin.

“We don’t practice corporal punishment in this school, Dolores,” McGonagall said sourly. “And frankly, I’m more concerned that Mr. Potter thought we did.”

“Just keep listening, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge said. “I want everyone to hear this.”

Aurora saw the danger coming, but there was no getting out of it. She remembered Umbridge pulling out her own copy of the book yesterday. Suppressing a groan, she read, _“‘Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood—I’ve found you a Seeker.’”_

“And _now_ we see why it was such a bad idea to have Potter on the Quidditch team from the outset,” Umbridge said smugly. “ _You_ rewarded him for breaking the rules with a place on the team—a year early, no less. I think perhaps we should take a closer look at _your_ management of the school as well.”

“Aha! I quite agree, Dolores,” Fudge spoke up. “At the very least, this calls your appointment as Acting Headmistress into question, Professor McGonagall.”

McGonagall looked like she’d bit into a lemon, but she didn’t respond. There really wasn’t a whole lot she could say to defend herself. Even if she had still given him a place on the team, by rights, she should probably also have given Harry a detention for that.

“Oh, bollocks!” Ron whispered. “If they kick McGonagall out too, _no one_ will be able to stop Umbridge.”

“Plus there won’t be anyone left in school from…er, the You-Know-What,” Harry said darkly.

“Besides Snape, you mean,” Hermione said.

“He doesn’t count. We can’t trust him.”

“Wait, are you still talking about the D.A.?” Neville said in confusion.

“No, I mean the the other You-Know-What.”

“But I _don_ _’t_ know what.”

“You don’t _need_ to know what.”

“Harry!” Hermione hissed.

“Sorry…It’s one of Dumbledore’s things.”

Neville backed off and nodded in understanding. “Oh, that’s okay, then,” he said.

Wood wanted to keep Harry’s joining of the Quidditch team a secret, but word spread fast. He soon found himself congratulated by Ron, Fred, and George, among others. And the book mention in passing the Twins’ habit of sneaking out through secret passages.

“Aw, crap,” Lee, Fred, and George groaned in unison.

“Mr. Filch, do investigate that passage, will you?” Umbridge ordered. “And I think we should be keeping a closer eye on Messrs. Weasleys’ movements.”

“I’ve changed my mind, Harry,” Fred said. “That book is bad news.”

“Hey, I didn’t write it,” he said.

Malfoy wasn’t done in the book either, though: _“‘I’d take you anytime on my own,’ said Malfoy. ‘Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only—no contact. What’s the matter? Never heard of a wizard’s duel, I suppose?’”_

“Ahem,” McGonagall interrupted. “And once again, Mr. Malfoy was the instigator.”

“And Mr. Potter should have known better than to take the bait,” Umbridge shot back.

“Having no background in the magical world?” squeaked Professor Flitwick. “Cut the boy a little slack.”

“Um, yes, about that…” Aurora cut in. _“‘Of course he has,’ said Ron, wheeling around. ‘I’m his second, who’s yours?’”_

Harry smacked himself in the forehead. At the same time, Hermione slapped Ron in the back of his head.

 _“‘What_ is _a wizard_ _’s duel?’ said Harry. ‘And what do you mean, you’re my second?’_

_“Well, a second’s there to take over if you die,’ said Ron casually.”_

That got more laughs from the students, mainly from the purebloods, and this time, it was Professor Flitwick who smacked himself in the forehead. “Mr. Weasley,” he said, “that has _never_ been the purpose of a second. A second’s job is to ensure that the terms of the duel are followed honourably. It is also the second’s duty to seek a peaceful resolution to the conflict, not to egg them on.”

Ron turned bright red and ducked his head to the table.

_“‘And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?’_

_“‘Throw it away and punch him on the nose,’ Ron suggested.”_

Flitwick sighed loudly. “And _this_ is why I wanted to bring back the Duelling Club,” he said.

Hermione didn’t get off unscathed either: _“‘think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really very selfish of you.’”_

Hermione turned pink as well. “Was I _really_ that much of a goody two-shoes back then?” she asked.

“Yes,” everyone around her said.

“But we like you anyway,” Ron added, patting her on the head.

“Stop that!”

Despite Harry’s own growing reservations about getting caught in the story, he and Ron left the Common Room at half past eleven to go to their “duel”. Hermione tried to stop them, but only succeeded in locking _herself_ out of the tower, since the Fat Lady had gone visiting, much to the boys’ consternation. And then Neville tagged alone because he’d forgotten the password.

“Tsk tsk, four students out of bed in one night, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge said. “How does _that_ speak to your management of your house?”

“Only two of them by choice, Dolores,” McGonagall said. “And while the portrait guardian may have some issues, _that_ problem is far older than I am.”

Their tense stare-down continued and Aurora continued reading, hoping things wouldn’t get any worse. Entirely predictably, Malfoy not only _didn_ _’t_ show up for the duel, but he’d also tipped off Filch to look for them.

“Ha, I can’t believe you fell for that, Potter!” Malfoy called loudly from across the Great Hall and was once again ignored by Umbridge.

“Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy, and do be quiet,” Aurora said. Minerva probably would have done it, but as she was reading, it was more her prerogative.

“I can’t believe you fell for it and still didn’t get caught,” Parvati whispered to Harry and his friends. “You didn’t get caught, did you?”

“Not by Filch,” Harry said cryptically.

Indeed, the first years weren’t caught by Filch, but they were by Peeves—although Peeves was equally unhelpful to everyone involved, so that was a wash. They ended up totally lost and hiding behind a locked door.

“I have a bad feeling about that door,” Aurora said. _“‘Oh, move over,’ Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock, and whispered,_ ‘Alohomora!’

_“The lock clicked and the door swung open—”_

“Just a moment, Aurora,” Filius interrupted. “Miss Granger successfully cast an Unlocking Charm with _someone else_ _’s wand_ in her second week of first year?”

“Apparently so, Filius,” she replied. “I’m sure she can tell you all about it next class.”

“It seems these children are just full of surprises,” he said proudly. “I always said Miss Granger should have been a Ravenclaw.”

“Hem hem,” Umbridge said. “Is this discussion _really_ important?”

“Hmpf. Apparently not,” Aurora huffed. Try to compliment a student, and look where it gets you. She kept reading as, entirely predictably again (at least if you were thinking like a dramatic storyteller), the locked room they hid in just happened to be the forbidden third floor corridor—a corridor that housed an absolutely enormous three-headed dog, described in graphic detail. She heard gasps as she read it, and she felt the same way. Coming face to faces with _that_ in a darkened corridor would scare anybody.

“So that’s what the horrible, painful death was!” Fudge exclaimed. “What was that thing doing in this school, I wonder? A Cerberus is a restricted and highly dangerous foreign magical creature—and it was hidden behind a door that a first year could open with a simple charm? Do you care to explain _that_ , Professor McGonagall?”

“That’s a good point,” Hermione whispered reluctantly. “Anyone could’ve wandered in and been eaten.”

“The dog was being cared for by Hagrid,” McGonagall said nervously. “He isn’t allowed the use of a wand, so we couldn’t put a stronger locking charm on it.”

“And there were no other precautions?” Umbridge questioned. “An Age Line perhaps—one that would at least keep the underage students from going in there?”

“I’m afraid on the matter of security, you’ll have to take that up with Professor Dumbledore—but as he is no longer here—”

“You were his Deputy. You were responsible for the safety of the children as much as he was. What do you think, Cornelius? A case for child endangerment? Gross negligence?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione gasped at the Gryffindor Table. “We have to do something!”

“Like what?” said Harry. “We can’t just attack, can we?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“Good point, Dolores; very good point,” Fudge agreed. “Maybe not quite criminal. It’s not as clear-cut as Dumbledore without more evidence, but it was _definitely_ a dereliction of her professional duty, which calls into question her ability to serve as Acting Headmistress.”

“Definitely. I’ve thought from the start that Professor McGonagall was overworked here, Cornelius.”

“I handle my job just fine,” McGonagall snapped.

“ _Jobs_ , you mean,” Umbridge replied. “You’re a full-time teacher, a Head of House, _and_ Deputy Headmistress—and now Acting Headmistress as well. It’s not surprising that you can’t keep up.”

“I think, Dolores,” Fudge continued, “that it would be good idea to place _you_ as Headmistress in her place.”

Then, to everyone’s surprised, Professor McGonagall laughed out loud. It was so jarring that a few people drew their wands before realising what they were hearing. “Pardon me, Minister,” she said. “Perhaps I’ve suddenly lost the ability to _count_ , but wouldn’t _she_ be the one doing three jobs, then? Professor, High Inquisitor, and Headmistress?”

But Fudge waved her concerns aside: “We can work out the paperwork this afternoon and appoint a new Defence Professor by morning.”

“I’m sure I can think of a few names, Cornelius,” Umbridge said with a smile. “And as for _you_ , Professor McGonagall…you are back under review as of now. We certainly need to take a closer look at your record. And Auror Shacklebolt, I expect you to submit a formal report to the DMLE to investigate this incident tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kingsley said, and he mouthed to McGonagall, “sorry”.

“Phew, that was close,” Hermione said, but despite the circumstances, she still wrote down the question:

  1. _Why was there no Age Line or other protection for the students on Fluffy_ _’s door?_



“No way it’s over,” Ron scowled. “They’re still gonna try to get rid of her.”

“I’m hoping the book says something to turn the tables on Umbridge before then,” Harry said. “I mean, it’s got to sometime, right?”

“I hope so, Harry,” Hermione told him. “I hope so.”

In the book, Hermione quickly figured out what the Cerberus was doing there, though: guarding the package from Gringotts Vault 713.

_“I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We all could have been killed—or worse, expelled.”_

Everyone laughed, and Hermione dropped her forehead down to the table: “Oh my God, I only said that _once!_ ”


	10. Trelawney: Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Sybill Trelawney belongs to JK Rowling.

When Aurora passed the book on to Sybill Trelawney, she thought she could just hear Minerva mutter, “Merlin help us,” and she didn’t think it was about the prospect of Minerva herself being fired.

“Oh, Halloween,” Sybill said in her ethereal voice. “It is fitting that I was fated to read this. It is a time of restless spirits and dark signs portending grave danger—”

“Sybill, you should probably just get on with it,” Minerva interrupted.

“Hmpf. Fine,” she grumbled.

Things seemed to be calmer for the younger Harry after the Cerberus incident, although he continued to speculate on what it was guarding. (“Clearly an artifact that will bring a dark curse on his head,” Sybill said.) He did, however, get to show up Malfoy (and Hermione) with his new broomstick and try it out in Quidditch practice.

Hermione was more certain than ever that the book had been written for a muggle audience when it spent several pages explaining the rules of Quidditch. “No book written for wizards would bother doing that,” she insisted. “Wizarding children learn the rules from the cradle, just like football in the muggle world.”

“Could be written for muggle-borns, though,” Harry said.

“It’s possible, but I doubt it. Most muggle-borns would learn about Quidditch from their peers before they read a book about it.”

“Yeah, but it’s a book about me, though.”

Hermione looked at Harry strangely. He wasn’t normally at all big-headed. “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.

“Hermione, you read _three_ books about me before we even met.”

She groaned while her friends chuckled. “Okay, I admit it. I’m not normal,” she said. “ _Most_ muggle-borns would probably still get it from their peers first. I think this book was written for muggles.”

“But what does that mean?” Harry said. “Next year, some muggle writer is going to publish my life story as a fantasy book, and somehow, a copy’s going to be sent back in time?”

“Hold on.” Hermione discreetly cast a Muffling Charm that Sirius had told Harry about last night. “Maybe…” she said. “But I was thinking maybe _you_ would.”

“Me? What?”

“Look, we already have the book—or Umbridge does, at least. No one has to actually _write_ it. Someone here in the Great Hall could just publish it as is. But _you_ should be the one to do it, Harry. You should have the rights to your own life story.”

“What if I don’t want to, though?”

“That’s your decision, of course, but…I think you might _need_ to.”

“Need to? Why?”

“Remember third year?” Hermione said. “The time turner? Oh, God, that’s probably going to be revealed too, isn’t it? This is such a mess. But listen, at the time, I was so hung up on not breaking the rules of time travel that I didn’t notice what happened was actually a closed time loop. You saw yourself cast the Patronus Charm to save you and Sirius, which is what inspired you to run out and cast it when we went back in time.”

“Meaning…I need to publish this book to make sure it exists so that it can be sent back in time for Umbridge to read it to us?”

“Exactly. And if it helps us stop Voldemort, it could be really important.”

“Alright, but how do we get our hands on a copy? Umbridge is gonna take it back when they’re done for the day, isn’t she.”

“Yes, but I’m sure there are ways around that. Fred and George can probably do it.”

“Of course. Why didn’t we think of that yesterday?” Harry said.

“I don’t know, but it’ll be easy for those two.” Hermione dropped the spell and called to them: “Psst. Fred, George…”

 _“‘I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons,’”_ Trelawney read in the meantime. “Oh, but Mr. Potter is not fated for this. Disaster follows him even in the air—”

“Sybill!” McGonagall hissed.

Trelawney had apparently forgotten that Harry was now supposed to live a long life, become Minister for Magic, and have twelve children, and was back to her old tricks. She also had to be reminded to keep reading rather than extemporising on the text. The story skipped ahead two months to Halloween, when they began to learn levitation in charms class.

“Oh no,” Ron groaned, and his head dropped to the table, knowing what was coming next.

Hermione patted his back: “Ron, that was years ago. You know I forgave you for that a long time ago.”

“I know, but I still don’t like remembering it,” he said. “Plus everyone will know what an arse I was.”

“Too late for that,” Ginny said cheekily.

“Oi!”

Sure enough, more than a few people glared at Ron when he was described insulting Hermione and making her cry. Hermione tried to defend him, but she couldn’t say too much without the teachers noticing. Hermione actually skipped her afternoon classes in the book, she spent so long crying in the bathroom, much to her chagrin now.

“Was it really that bad?” asked Ginny, who hadn’t been seen it firsthand.

“I was dealing with a _lot_ of other stuff just then,” Hermione said. “I’d always had trouble making friends, and I had hoped the magical world would be someplace I could finally fit in, and it…it just wasn’t.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m glad things got better for you.”

 _“‘Troll—in the dungeons—’”_ Trelawney recited loudly. _“‘Thought you ought to know.’_ And death comes to Hogwarts. Truly, someone will not survive this night.”

“Sybill, that’s not what happened,” McGonagall said. “Just keep reading.”

The report of the troll caused panic, but Dumbledore had things under control: _“‘Prefects,’ he rumbled, ‘lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!’”_

A queer look crossed Hermione’s face. “But where did the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins go, then?” she asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t remember that much,” Harry said.

Hermione was surprised how easy a time Harry had of convincing Ron to go look for her in the book. They hadn’t really said anything about that at the time. They broke off and had just noticed Snape suspiciously headed for the third floor instead of the dungeons when they stumbled upon the troll…and locked it in the girls’ bathroom.

“You locked it in there with me?” she hissed.

“Heh heh…didn’t we ever mention that to you?” Ron said with a nervous grin.

“You git!” She smacked his arm. “I thought I was gonna die—Wait, the _key_ was in the _lock?_ It _had_ a lock? What?”

“I dunno; that’s what happened,” he said.

Hermione frowned deeply and added to her list:

  1. _Why was the key in the lock of the girl_ _’s bathroom?_
  2. _Why did the bathroom lock at all from the outside? (Sabotage?)_



_“The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went._ Oh, it is a terrible fate: the Boy-Who-Lived doomed to die at the hands of a savage beast!”

“Sybill, Mr. Potter is _not_ about to die in the story,” McGonagall snapped, pointing at the Gryffindor Table. “He’s sitting _right there!_ ”

Many of the students laughed. However, Trelawney just looked annoyed, as did her fans, especially Parvati and Lavender, who were glaring at everybody else.

“You see, Minister?” Umbridge said. “This is why I’ve been recommending we get rid of her. She must be completely incompetent if she’s ‘predicting’ that one of Hogwarts’ current students has _already_ died.”

Trelawney looked appalled. “I can only report what the Inner Eye Sees,” she said. “And I have Seen Mr. Potter’s death many times.”

“Actually, that’s worryingly accurate,” McGonagall pointed out half-seriously. “With the history he’s had, Mr. Potter should be dead many times over by now.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that he’s still alive,” Umbridge said, and she cast a glance at Harry that made sure he caught the double meaning. “No, we can’t overlook a failure this egregious. Professor Trelawney, I’m afraid we will no longer require your services here.”

“No! No, please!” Trelawney gasped, rising to her feet. “Hogwarts is my home! Where will I go?”

“That is not my concern.”

“Oh, have a heart, Dolores,” McGonagall snapped. “Sybill, you’ll stay right here.”

“Excuse me, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge said. “You don’t have the authority—”

“I have the _only_ authority, Dolores. You may be in charge of hiring now, but guests to the castle still fall under the approval of the Acting Headmistress, and if Sybill wants to stay, I say she can stay as long as she wants.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Minerva!” Trelawney reached over and clung to McGonagall like a drowning women.

“There, there, Sybill,” McGonagall said, patting her on the back. “Let’s get you up to your quarters. You don’t need to deal with this.” She started to escort her away.

“Be careful, Professor McGonagall,” Umbridge said threateningly. “Your own capital is wearing thin.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she said, and with that, she and Trelawney left the Great Hall. The book was still lying open at Trelawney’s place setting.

“Well, then,” Umbridge said haughtily. “Professor Burbage, I believe you were next. Would you care to finish Professor Trelawney’s chapter?”

“What, _now?_ ” Charity Burbage demanded.

“No time like the present.” Umbridge drew the wand and levitated the book over to her.

Burbage took the book whilst muttering something very uncouth under her breath and found the place again: _“‘Oy, pea-brain!’ yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it.”_

Harry’s and Ron’s attempts to distract the troll had little effect. Harry jumped on the troll’s back and accidentally stuck his wand up its nose, much to the horror (and some laughter) of his classmates, but it only succeeded in nearly getting him killed. It wasn’t until Ron managed to levitate its club and drop it on its head that it was subdued.

And Professor Flitwick smacked his palm to his forehead. “Mr. Weasley used the very spell he _failed_ to perform in class?” he said. “And on a target that was as large as he was, _and_ with a bad wand? I’m not sure whether I want to reward him or give him detention. Outstanding for effort and spellcasting, but _Dreadful_ for planning and critical thinking.”

Ron turned red and sank in his seat at the Gryffidor Table. Despite his pride at pulling off difficult magic like that, he was mortified to remember how bad an idea that had been at the time.

McGonagall seemed to have much the same idea when she appeared in the story. Fortunately, Hermione covered for them.

_“‘I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I’d read all about them.’_

_“Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?”_

Hermione blushed deeply, even though she’d done far worse since then. She was getting a little worried about what was coming later in the book. And after that, second year could get her in a _lot_ of trouble if they actually got to it, although Umbridge and Fudge should be pretty solidly discredited by the end of first year—she hoped.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Snape spoke up. “I hope you realise, Miss Granger, that Professor McGonagall and I saw through your patently transparent lie at once, which is the only reason you weren’t punished more severely. If a first-year student _deliberately_ went after a mountain troll, they would lose far more than five points if they survived.”

“It _was_ a pretty bad lie,” Hermione muttered to herself. “I knew it was even then. I would’ve known at the start I stood no chance against a troll.”

“Yeah, but still, thanks for covering for us,” Harry said.

“I agree with me,” Ron said. “We _should_ _’ve_ got more than ten points.”

Hermione slapped him on the back of the head. “What you _should_ have done was tell a prefect there was a student missing and where. They could have handled it much better.”

“We still saved your life, though,” Ron said.

“Yes, thank you for that,” she admitted. “ _After_ you locked me in there with it.”

_“But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend. There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.”_

“You know, that night turned out pretty well,” Harry agreed.

“You remember that night very differently than I do,” Hermione deadpanned. “I seem to remember several days of very awkward conversations before we talked through what happened, and we all decided each other weren’t so bad after all.”

“Well, yes, there was that too,” he said.

Professor McGonagall returned to the Great Hall, having conveyed Trelawney up to her quarters. “Well, that’s half a crisis averted,” she said. “Did I miss anything important?”

Flitwick filled her in: “Only Mr. Weasley defeating the troll in a way that really shouldn’t have worked and Miss Granger lying badly to cover up the fact that it was his fault they were in that situation in the first place. In other words, typical Gryffindor madness.”

“I’d take issue with that Filius, but unfortunately, with those three, it’s completely accurate,” she replied.


	11. Burbage: Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Charity Burbage belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> So, after consulting Reddit, I learnt that in Britain, it’s apparently not unheard of to have locks on all internal doors in older buildings and to leave keys in the locks to cover the keyhole and allow the room to be locked for privacy. So the scenario that JK Rowling wrote with the bathroom is actually plausible. Hermione was just thinking in terms of modern Health and Safety codes.
> 
> You know, the hardest part about this story is handling the constantly shifting viewpoint characters. Apologies if it’s confusing because of that.

“Well, I suppose I have to go ahead and read the next chapter,” Professor Burbage said. “It should fit in before lunch.”

“Hem hem. And are we going to discuss how a mountain troll got into the school?” Umbridge interrupted.

McGonagall rolled her eyes: “As the book will probably reveal, it was Professor Quirrell who let it in. And since he was the Defence Professor, doing a job that appears to be _cursed_ , it wasn’t that far out of the realm of the ordinary.”

Umbridge assuredly noted McGonagall’s emphasis, but she ignored it. “Very well, then. Continue, Professor Burbage.”

“Alright… _Chapter Eleven: Quidditch_.”

“This should be fun,” Harry said sourly.

“Except for Quirrell trying to kill you,” Hermione said, mistaking his meaning.

“Gee, thanks, Hermione,” he groaned.

In the book, Harry was back to normal student activities like preparing for the first Quidditch match and reading up on the subject. Hermione was now _“a bit more relaxed about breaking rules”_ and conjured a blue flame in a jam jar to keep them warm in the November air. And Professor Snape was naturally causing more trouble, including confiscating Harry’s library book.

_“‘Library books are not to be taken outside the school,’ said Snape. ‘Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.’_

_“‘He’s just made that rule up,’ Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away.”_

“Yes, Severus, you _did_ make that rule up,” McGonagall interrupted. “I do hope that’s not your usual practice.”

Snape said nothing. Unfortunately, his actions in the story backfired, as it led to Harry finding out just _why_ he was limping.

_“‘Blasted thing,’ Snape was saying. ‘How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?’”_

That was finally enough for Umbridge to cast a suspicious eye towards Snape, but for that, he had an answer. “Before we have half the school engaging in wild speculation,” he said, “I was checking on the third floor corridor to ensure that no one _else_ was trying to use the troll as a distraction to break in. I think you’ll recall that Professor Quirrell was the one who got himself killed involving himself in such mischief that year.”

“Aw, Severus, you spoilt the ending,” Flitwick said with a chuckle.

“If the students haven’t heard of it by now, Filius, they’re even more oblivious than they look,” Snape replied. “I merely don’t want anyone else jumping to conclusions like Potter did.”

“Serves you right,” McGonagall said.

“He was eavesdropping.”

“And you were going out of your way to act suspicious.”

“If you think that was ‘going out of my way’, this is going to be a long book,” he grumbled.

Harry and Ron, however, were immediately convinced that Snape was trying to steal whatever was hidden on the third floor, although Hermione was sceptical.

“That didn’t last long, did it?” Ron asked.

“Well, he _was_ being suspicious,” Hermione admitted.

Harry was characteristically nervous the day of his first Quidditch match. It wasn’t something he felt so much anymore, at least when he actually got to play. He’d honestly had really bad luck with that. He ought to have played fourteen games in his career by now, but he’d only played seven. In any case, people chuckled at the recitation of Oliver’s boilerplate speech and quite a bit more at Lee Jordan’s and McGonagall’s commentary. Professor Burbage did a decent job trying to mimic the way both of them sounded in the staff box, which made it that much funnier.

The game went well for a while, and Harry nearly caught the Snitch, which surprised him because it didn’t sound like he’d remembered…until Marcus Flint blocked him and nearly knocked him off his broom. _That_ was right. With the Quirrell/Snape thing, Harry had honestly forgotten that had happened. _Now_ , it was coming back to him.

_“Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, ‘Send him off, ref! Red card!’_

_“‘This isn’t football, Dean,’ Ron reminded him. ‘You can’t send people off in Quidditch—and what’s a red card?’”_

“They probably ought to be able to send people off in Quidditch,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, I’ve thought that, too,” Harry agreed, “but they have fouls for setting opponents on fire and attempted decapitation, so it’s kind of designed to be bloody. It’s the ‘no substitutions’ rule that gets me more.”

“How does that even work?” she asked. “Couldn’t you just win by knocking out all of your opponents?”

“Mutually assured destruction, I think,” Harry said. “If you start, the other team’ll hit back just as hard.”

“And in the pro league, the team would get banned for the season,” Ron said. “What’s mutually assured destruction?”

Harry, Hermione, and Dean all looked at each other awkwardly. “Er…we’ll explain later, Ron,” Hermione said.

Meanwhile, in the story, Harry’s bad luck continued as he lost control of his broom. The crowd didn’t notice at first until it had nearly thrown him off, but he was glad to hear his friends had been watching. With Hagrid’s explanation, Hermione put two and two together and scanned the crowd from someone cursing his broom, soon spotting on Professor Snape.

“ _You_ , Miss Granger?” Snape demanded, standing up from his feet.

“I’m sorry, Professor, it was a mistake,” Hermione said.

“You set me on fire!”

Gasps and some laughter sounded from around the Great Hall, and Umbridge stood up: “Well, now, setting fire to a teacher, Miss Granger?”

Now, Hermione stood up, too. “I thought I was saving Harry’s life, Professor,” she said. “In my defence, it was an easy mistake to make.”

Snare narrowed his eyes at her: “Are you implying something, Miss Granger?”

“No! It’s just—there were only two people in that crowd staring at Harry without blinking and muttering something, and even if I _had_ spotted Quirrell, he was the Defence Professor and didn’t seem to have anything against Harry, and you were…”

“I was what?”

“Well…just like the book says, sir,” she finished sheepishly.

“Miss Granger, an assault on a teacher is a serious matter—” Umbridge started.

“That will do, Dolores,” McGonagall cut her off. “I told you before that punishments cannot carry over between years. Miss Granger acted, however _unconventionally_ , in what she believed was the defence of her friend, and no one was seriously harmed, so it is purely an internal matter.”

“I agree, Madam Umbridge,” Kingsley chimed in. “Unless I hear something radically different from what I’m expecting, I have no probable cause to act.”

Umbridge harrumphed and sat back down. So did Hermione, though she was shaking.

“You know, Severus,” Professor Flitwick spoke up. “That was bad form, there.”

“Excuse me? Bad _form_ , Filius?” Snape replied in confusion.

“You spoilt the climax of the scene. Now we already know what’s going to happen to you.”

Everyone laughed, which relieved the tension, even though Snape was glaring like he would like to try his hand against Flitwick in a duel. Hermione took matters into her own hands and ran behind Snape’s seat, by luck knocking Quirrell over on the way, thus breaking the _real_ curse, and setting Snape’s robes on fire as a “distraction”.

“Hmm, it must have taken time to wear off if it didn’t stop until thirty seconds after I knocked over Quirrell,” Hermione mused uneasily. She sounded calm enough, but Harry could tell she was still worried about being expelled by Umbridge, or worse, arrested.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry whispered quietly enough that even their friends couldn’t hear. “This can’t go on _that_ much longer, can it?” Hermione didn’t answer.

In the book, Neville had been crying over Harry, which Harry hadn’t known or expected—frozen with fear, he could have guessed, but _crying?_ He looked over at Neville, who was turning bright red at the fact being revealed, but didn’t say anything. Finally, Harry accidentally caught the Snitch in his mouth—somehow—winning the game for Gryffindor. The trio hung out with Hagrid afterwards, who insisted that Snape wasn’t trying to kill Harry, but was more concerned that they knew about Fluffy.

 _“Fluffy?”_ was echoed from half the school as much as much as it was in the book. Of course, it was Hagrid, so it wasn’t all that surprising in retrospect, but it was still worrying. Hagrid didn’t say what Fluffy was guarding, but he did let slip that it involved Nicolas Flamel.

“Of course, everyone knows what it is now from the book title,” Ron pointed out. “Would’ve been a lot easier if we knew that then.”

“Why did Dumbledore trust Hagrid with that information anyway?” Hermione pointed out.

“Why not?” Harry said. “He’d trust him with his life, and so would I.”

“And so would I,” Hermione agreed, “but I wouldn’t trust him with my secrets, and neither would you. Be honest.”

“Well, yeah, I suppose…”

Hermione wrote it down:

  1. _Why did Dumbledore trust Hagrid (who is obviously bad at keeping secrets) with secret information?_



* * *

The Quidditch incident ended the day’s reading, which unfortunately meant there would be more of the same tomorrow. Minerva didn’t know what grated on her more: the Sybill had been sacked, that nothing had been done about Severus, or just the fact that Dolores Umbridge was still working her will on the school. It hadn’t been as bad as yesterday, but it was still a mess, and there were even more revelations she had to try to make sense of.

She was a little surprised when Severus was the first to enter her office after classes, but she didn’t question it. She had a thing or two to talk to him about, too.

“Good evening, Minerva,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“Indeed, we do, Severus,” she replied. “But so you know, I’m expecting Mr. Potter and his friends here shortly, so—”

“That will be fine, Minerva. I need to speak to them as well.”

“Oh, you do? Well, that will make should make this simpler, then. But first, I need to ask…” She stood up from her chair and loomed over him, glaring as if he were an errant student. “Did you use Legilimency on Mr. Potter?”

Severus held his ground, although he had to force himself not to roll his eyes. “No, Minerva,” he insisted, “I know I sometimes have that effect on people, but I have not used Legilimency on Potter or any other student until this year.”

“And Mr. Potter’s headache?”

“Quirrell, almost certainly. I can state with confidence it wasn’t anything I did.”

“Very well. That just leaves the matter of your teaching practises.”

“And you have a problem with my teaching practises?” he said.

“Don’t patronise me, Severus,” Minerva snapped. “There have been serious problems with your teaching practises since the day you started here—your blatant favouritism of your house in the House Cup, for example.”

“Considering the bias _against_ Slytherin by most of the rest of the staff, I’d say that is a reasonable position.”

“And the fact that Slytherin won or would have won the House Cup without Albus’s intervention in ten of the past fourteen years is just a coincidence?”

“Stranger things have happened, Minerva. The House Cup has always been a glorified popularity contest anyway. You will note that I give out detentions for more clear-cut reasons, and I don’t shy away from giving them to my own students.”

“You’re fairer with detentions, Severus. I don’t think I would call you _fair_. And it’s not just discipline. There’s the way you conduct your classes—how you generally don’t even _try_ to lecture. Your grossly unprofessional behaviour towards any student you deem insufficiently gifted in your class, and I don’t just mean Potter—although every time you talk about _him_ you sound like you’re talking about his father instead.”

Severus opened his mouth with a sharp comeback, but the words died in his throat. The revelations of the past two days were too great for him to ignore. “You are right,” he admitted. “I have been misjudging Potter since he came to this school. Had I known his true background, I would have regarded him differently.”

“If you’d been paying attention, you mean,” Minerva said. “Nonetheless, Longbottom, Finnegan, and others have received nearly the same treatment from you.”

Severus scoffed: “Longbottom and Finnegan are walking disasters in the classroom.”

“That’s no excuse for being a piss-poor teacher.”

“I have never claimed to be a good one.”

“You’ve never _tried_ to be a good one!”

Both teachers were silent for a minute. Eventually, Severus said, “What is it to you?”

“We both know that there is every chance that Albus won’t return as Headmaster after the revelations today even if Fudge and Umbridge are deposed,” Minerva said. “I am aware that Albus could not fire you because of your unique position and thus gave you nearly free reign, but the sword cuts both ways, Severus. Just as Albus couldn’t fire you, _you_ can’t quit. And if _I_ am running this school when this is over, I can find _creative_ ways to make your life difficult that don’t involve getting rid of you.”

Severus seethed. He hated being in a position where the other person had all the power, and that happened often enough as it was these days. That Minerva was putting her foot down rankled even more. “What do you want?” he said.

“Make a serious effort at being a good teacher. Behave in a professional manner in front of the students. Do your _job_ , Severus. That’s all I’m asking.”

He was about to acknowledge his reluctant agreement when there was a knock on the door. “Professor—” Hermione Granger started to say. “Oh, sorry. We can come back later.”

“No, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley,” Minerva stopped them. “We _all_ need to talk here. Please come in.”

The three students awkwardly entered and sat down. They looked at Severus in particular, presumably wondering what he was there for. Severus spoke first: “Mr. Potter, I had an interesting conversation with Professor Umbridge this morning about where she found that book of hers.”

“Oh, you found the answer?” Minerva asked eagerly.

“No. Unfortunately, the woman is smart enough to know Occlumency. I don’t _think_ she noticed me peeking in.”

Harry shifted nervously in his seat.

“Mr. Potter, Professor Umbridge did give me one clue as to the origin of her book. She said that Professor Dumbledore was correct when he said, ‘Help is always given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.’ Do you have any idea what that might mean?”

Minerva pondered that comment. It was one of Dumbledore’s usual platitudes that she hadn’t thought to be of any practical value at the time. If anyone knew of some hidden meaning to the sentence, it would be Harry Potter, but she was disappointed. He looked between the two of them in confusion and said, “No, Professor. He said that to Ron and me the last time he was sacked, and later, Fawkes came to me in the Chamber of Secrets, but that doesn’t have anything to do with the book.”

“Unless Umbridge meant that Hogwarts helped her somehow,” Hermione pointed out.

“No way,” Ron said. “Why would Hogwarts help Umbridge even if it could?”

Harry’s eyes widened slowly. “Because she…asked?” he said.

The three students all stared at each other. “Bloody hell, you don’t think…?” Ron said.

“The Room…?” Hermione started. They all fell silent.

“Mr. Potter, if you have something to say, then say it,” Snape said impatiently.

“There’s a…” Harry looked to Hermione expectantly.

“There’s a hidden room on the seventh floor,” she said. “If you walk past it three times, it will turn into whatever kind of room you ask for.”

“Really?” McGonagall said in surprise. She’d never heard of anything like that. “And you think Professor Umbridge could have stumbled on this room, and it provided the books for her?”

Hermione shrugged: “I need the true story of Harry Potter? It could happen.”

“But how could it provide a book that was from the future?” Snape asked. “A book that contains a dream that Mr. Potter ostensibly didn’t remember himself—Incidentally, Mr. Potter, _do_ you remember the dream it mentioned?”

Harry shook his head: “No, sir. I believe it, though. It sounds like something I’d dream, and everything else in the book was right.”

“Actually, Professor, I had a theory about that,” Hermione said.

“Oh?”

Hermione had briefly been surprised that Severus knew about time travel, but she didn’t hold back. She launched into a complicated explanation about how time travel worked that she must have got either from muggle literature or a _lot_ of illicit experiments with her time turner. She was talking about loops in time and events causing themselves and things that basically boiled down to Harry publishing the books in the future and somehow sending them back to the past for Umbridge to get her hands on them. It all frankly gave Minerva a headache.

Severus, however, understood it perfectly. After reading some Robert Heinlein stories as a child that his parents probably shouldn’t have let him read at that age, he probably understood time travel better than most Unspeakables. It did fit.

“I must admit, Miss Granger,” he said, “that makes more sense than anything else I’ve heard over the past two days. Although at present, we don’t have a copy of the book to enact such a scheme.”

“Heh, that won’t be a problem if Fred and George come through,” Ron said smugly.

McGonagall and Snape stared at each other. “Don’t tell me, Mr. Weasley. I don’t want to know,” McGonagall said. “Was there anything else, Severus?”

Snape thought for a minute and said, “Nothing urgent.”

“Very well. Miss Granger, I assume you have more questions today?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione replied. “But first, can you tell us if you’ve heard from Professor Dumbledore at all.”

McGonagall nodded: “I have, Miss Granger, although I was unfortunately unable to question him about your treatment with your relatives, Mr. Potter. He merely informed me that he agrees with our assessment that Professor Umbridge’s book is from the future, and he can find no clue as to where it came from or who wrote it. He is still doing other work for the Order.”

“Okay, then, I suppose there’s nothing that needs to be revisited from yesterday,” Hermione said. “Here are the questions we thought of today.”

She handed over the list. McGonagall paled as she read it, then handed it to Snape, who also showed surprise at a couple of points. “This is…very interesting,” Minerva said slowly. “To…take them slightly out of order…as far as I know, Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel really are dead. I attended their funeral in the summer of 1993. I admit that I did not see their bodies. The funeral was closed-casket, inside of which were presumably a pair of six hundred-year-old skeletons. But their death was reported by Professor Dumbledore, who told anyone who asked that the Flamels were ready to go on to the ‘Next Great Adventure’.”

“That’s what he told me, too,” Harry said.

“And I suspect it was at most half-true,” she said bitterly. “I didn’t know Master Flamel that well, but I strongly suspect he was spooked by the fact that the Philosopher’s Stone had nearly been captured by You-Know-Who. You have to understand, the man was a brilliant alchemist, but he was not as gifted in other areas, including magical security. Have you ever wondered why Flamel, a Frenchman, was living in Devon when he died?”

The three students stared at each other. Clearly none of them had thought of that before.

“The Flamels fled from France to England during Grindelwald’s War, seeking Professor Dumbledore’s protection. They could not have stood up to a direct assault from Grindelwald himself.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “But if that’s true, why steal the Stone?” she asked. “Why not steal the Elixir of Life from Flamel himself?”

“I don’t know, Miss Granger. There may be some alchemical reason why You-Know-Who needed a fresh batch. Just as there may have been some alchemical reason why Master Flamel could not just destroy the Stone and remake it as needed. I’m not familiar enough with the subject to say. Whatever the reason, it was _this_ Stone that was important to You-Know-Who.”

“ _I_ can answer your other questions about the Stone, Miss Granger,” Snape cut in. “Professor Dumbledore was tracking the Dark Lord’s movements through various methods for ten years, and for most of those ten years, the Dark Lord was hiding in Albania, too weak to act. As soon as he became active again, the Headmaster knew that he would have designs on the Philosopher’s Stone. He also knew that no fortress, however secure—including Gringott’s, regardless of the level of security—would truly be safe from the Dark Lord if he set his mind to breaching it. The safest place to keep it truly was here, under the Headmaster’s nose.”

“But under the school?” Ron said. “Why not in his pocket?”

“Or in his office under Fidelius?” Harry added.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “That I do not know, Potter. You will have to ask him when and if he returns.”

“And why wasn’t there at minimum an Age Line to protect the Forbidden Corridor?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know that either,” McGonagall said. “And that’s worrying. It’s a serious oversight on my own part as well as his. Age Lines need to be renewed fairly regularly, but it would have been more than worth the trouble.” She made a note of her own to investigate that one. “And as for trusting Hagrid…well, you will note that I pointed out my personal concerns about Hagrid in Chapter One,” she said with a tight smile. “But the Headmaster is a very trusting man.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Harry said. He glanced at Snape subconsciously. It made him all the more unhappy with the fact that Dumbledore didn’t seem to trust _him_ anymore.

“And the bathroom door?” Hermione pressed.

McGonagall smiled a little more: “Why, Miss Granger, I thought you were so familiar with _Hogwarts, A History_.”

“What—” she started, but then she smacked her forehead. “Oh, I feel like an idiot. The plumbing system at Hogwarts isn’t original, is it?”

“No, it is not,” McGonagall said. “That room was not a bathroom until the mid-1700s. And as for the key, I suspect Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley merely forgot to mention which side of the door they found it on.”

Ron’s ears quickly turned red. “Oh…yeah…” he said. “It was on the inside when we found it, wasn’t it?”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she said.

“Oi, you’re one to talk. You’re the one who didn’t even know it was there.”

Harry rolled his eyes at both of them. “Right,” he said. “So what now?”

“Now, Potter?” Snape replied. “Now, we hope that finishing the book tomorrow gives Umbridge enough rope to hang herself. If you have nothing else to discuss, I suggest you go along to supper before you raise suspicion.”

“Yes, Professor,” the trio said, and they got up to leave.

“And Miss Granger,” Severus called after them. She turned around. “In the future, I believe you can come up with a better way to deal with a crisis than setting a teacher on fire.”

Hermione turned pink and answered, “Yes, Professor.”

* * *

Albus Dumbledore read the letter Minerva had sent to him detailing the revelations that had been made that day with concern. As Severus had pointed out, it was likely that tomorrow would give Umbridge enough rope to hang herself, which would neatly get Cornelius’s obstructionist regime out of the way. But the book was also revealing far more about the affair with the Philosopher’s Stone than he would like. People were starting to ask questions he would rather not answer. And worse, Minerva now had some very serious concerns herself about his “mismanagement” of the school, even as Fudge had raised concerns about Minerva’s own management—concerns that were easily verifiable and could very well stick even if Umbridge were discredited. If she and Fudge went down, they might still take Albus and Minerva with them, and _that_ would be extremely treacherous ground.

He would need additional contingencies—other ways to get around whatever the Ministry might do. It would be tricky, but it should be doable.

But the most intriguing part was Miss Granger’s speculation on the book itself: a closed time loop such as Albus had set up to save Sirius’s and Buckbeak’s lives. It was a brilliant plan, and it sounded more plausible than anything else he’d thought of so far. The one remaining puzzle was Harry’s dream—the dream he himself didn’t remember.

It was true, a Pensieve, Legilimency, or various other mind magics could, with difficulty, retrieve memories that a person did not consciously recall—even memories of dreams. On the other hand, Miss Granger’s theory of a closed time loop solved those problems nicely without such complications. Of course, that would mean they couldn’t be certain of the rest of the content of the book, if it popped out of thin air, but everything that was verifiable so far had been true. Copying it from the book in the first place would definitely be the easiest way to access the content of a lost memory. And the only other way was—

Dumbledore stopped cold. There _was_ one other person who might possibly remember a dream that Harry himself didn’t.

_Voldemort._


	12. Grubbly-Plank: The Mirror of Erised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank belongs to JK Rowling.

On Wednesday morning, a new Educational Decree was posted announcing multiple staffing changes at Hogwarts. By the time Fudge and his Aurors arrived, it seemed like half the school was under Ministry control. Professor Umbridge had been promoted to Headmistress, of course, pleasing almost no one, and that was bad enough by itself. From that position, Umbridge would pretty much be able to do whatever she wanted.

The position of High Inquisitor was now suspended, although no one doubted that Umbridge would be doing the same job as Headmistress. Professor McGonagall had been left in place for the time being, despite the doubts raised about her ability to do three jobs at once. However, the three vacancies that had opened yesterday for other teachers were all filled with Ministry employees. Arnold Peasegood, an Obliviator, would be teaching Defence; Saul Croaker, an Unspeakable, would be teaching Divination; and to the surprise of many, Percy Weasley was named as “Interim Professor of History of Magic” pending a formal job search. After considering various possibilities, Percy’s brothers, and subsequently the rest of the school, concluded that he had been appointed to that position because he was the only person in the Ministry swotty enough to have actually stayed awake in History class.

Tensions were running high at breakfast given the resentment at Umbridge sitting in Dumbledore’s seat, bewilderment at all of the other staff changes and, most importantly, the anticipation of most of the school at learning the thrilling conclusion to the adventure of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher_ _’s Stone_. In fact, the feeling was more universal that it almost ever was these days as Umbridge and her allies were eagerly awaiting the final _coup de grace_ against Dumbledore and Potter, while her opponents were anticipating her imminent downfall. Even Professor Grubbly-Plank didn’t object when she was asked to read the first chapter of the day.

“This should be good,” Harry told his friends. “If we’re lucky, she’ll be gone by lunchtime.”

_“Chapter Twelve: The Mirror of Erised.”_

“Bollocks.”

“Ooh, sorry, mate,” Ron said.

_“…The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.”_

Harry’s, Hermione’s, and Ron’s jaws hit the floor, and Ron in particular burst out laughing until he couldn’t breathe.

“Mr. Weasley! Detention!” Umbridge said imperiously from the High Table. “This is highly disruptive. Just what on _Earth_ do you think is so funny?”

Ron struggled to collect himself. When Umbridge stayed standing, waiting for an answer he choked out, “Sorry, sorry, just a really good prank.”

Umbridge harrumphed and sat back down.

“Alright, what’s so funny?” Fred whispered.

“Yeah,” George agreed. “It was good, but it wasn’t _that_ good.”

“Shh. You’ll find out at the end of the book,” Harry told them as he and Hermione looked at them with matching grins worthy of the Twins themselves.

“Ooh, this should be good,” Fred said, rubbing his hands together, and George nodded his agreement.

Hermione was going home for the holiday, but Harry and Ron were both staying for their first Christmas at Hogwarts due to their various circumstances, and she wanted them to make productive use of their time and look for information on Nicolas Flamel in the library (much to Hagrid’s dismay). They hadn’t found anything despite weeks of looking, though. Harry even briefly tried the Restricted Section, but was chased away by Madam Pince.

“It really took you that long to find out about him?” Neville asked.

“He wasn’t in any of the modern books,” Hermione complained. “It was like he hadn’t done any real work since the fifteenth century.”

“Wouldn’t’ve been much of a secret to the upper-year students,” George said. “I’m surprised Hagrid cared that much.”

“Well, he’d already told us too much,” Harry said. “He was trying to do damage control, I guess.”

Ron suggested that Hermione ask her parents about Flamel, which she dismissed as they were both dentists.

“In retrospect, I probably should have asked,” Hermione mused. “Flamel’s known in the muggle world. He was before the Statute of Secrecy. We might’ve saved a few weeks.”

Predictably, Harry and Ron didn’t actually spend much time in the library over the holidays. Instead, Ron taught Harry chess, which was at least sort of productive, and Harry was excited on Christmas day to actually receive presents.

“Oh, no, you’d never got any Christmas presents before, had you?” Hermione said aghast.

“Not serious ones. They Dursleys always give me a sock or a coat hanger of something.”

“That’s awful. And they sent you a fifty-pence piece that year? Why would they even bother? That’s just spiteful.”

“That’s the Dursleys,” Harry said. “I think it was a joke because I couldn’t spend it in the wizarding world.”

“Ugh. If I ever see them…” she muttered darkly.

Harry didn’t bother dissuading Hermione from whatever horrible revenge she was plotting. It should be amusing, at least. Fortunately, the rest of Harry’s presents in the book were better: a hand-carved flute from Hagrid, a jumper and a box of fudge from Mrs. Weasley, Chocolate Frogs from Hermione, and of course his father’s Invisibility Cloak with an enigmatic unsigned note that everyone knew was Dumbledore’s style.

“An Invisibility Cloak, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge said. “That is completely unacceptable. You will turn it in to me today.”

“That cloak is Mr. Potter’s property and a priceless family heirloom to boot, Dolores,” McGonagall cut in. “You have no right to confiscate it. In fact, you probably don’t even have the right to hold his broom like you’re doing now.”

“Mr. Potter has been banned from Quidditch—”

“And you don’t need to take his broom to kick him off the team. And the same goes for Messrs. Weasley, too. Am I right, Auror Shacklebolt?”

Kingsley coughed in annoyance and said, “I don’t know the school’s bylaws regarding broom ownership, Professor, but the High Inquisitor can’t just take student property arbitrarily. If the students in question press the matter, the most she can do is order them sent home.

That would be bad, Harry thought. If Umbridge sent his broom to the Dursleys, they’d probably destroy it. Without hesitation, he stood up and called, “Can I loan my broom to the Weasley Family, Professor?”

“We’ll discuss that later, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said smoothly, and with a sharp look at Umbridge, she added, “ _before_ Professor Umbridge takes any action. Please sit down.”

Harry sat uneasily. His cloak fell under the same concern as his broom, which worried him even more, although they’d have to find it first to confiscate it, and anyway, they were still hoping to see Umbridge’s downfall by the end of the day.

The florid description of the Christmas feast at Hogwarts was eye-opening for those who had never stayed at the castle for winter holidays, but it was downright routine compared with Harry’s last two Christmases—one being the Yule Ball and the other spent at St. Mungo’s. But after a wonderful experience at the midday feast and the subsequent supper of leftovers, he was more interested in the potential uses of his new invisibility cloak in the book. After initially being overwhelmed by the possibilities, he decided to try for the Restricted Section again.

“Tsk-tsk,” Fred said. “You get an invisibility cloak, and the first place you go is the library.”

“We may have to revoke your troublemaker card,” George said.

“You sure you weren’t channelling Hermione that night?”

“Hey, it _was_ the Restricted Section,” Harry protested.

“True, but how did that go for you?” asked George with a smile.

With a book screaming and Harry fleeing in terror and getting himself lost, as it turned out. Even he had to admit that wasn’t a very impressive showing.

 _“There was a suit of armour near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there,”_ Grubbly-Plank read.

Hermione gave Harry a funny look: “Harry, there are _hundreds_ of suits of armour in the castle.”

“Plus they move around when you have your back turned,” Ron added.

That puzzled Harry, too. Why had he thought a suit of armour would make a good landmark? “I really don’t know what I was thinking there,” he said.

Meanwhile, in the story, he was nearly caught by Snape and Filch, so he ducked into a nearby classroom where he found…

 _“It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top…_ oh, goodness. I don’t even know what language this is,” Grubbly-Plank said. “Um… _Erised stra_ _…ehr-roi…oy-it oob cafru oy-it on woah-zee…?”_

“What on Earth?” Professor Babbling said. “Let me see that, Wilhelmina.” Grubbly-Plank passed her the book, and she teased out the riddle in moments. “It’s backwards,” she said. “Mirror writing. It says, ‘I show not your face but your hearts desire.’”

That was interesting, the students thought. A few people whispered to each other, wondering what Harry Potter’s heart’s desire was. You-Know-Who defeated, maybe? Snape gone from the castle? From the reactions he got later from his fellow students afterwards, Harry was surprised at how few had worked it out. In the Hall, he just wanted to sink into the floor. He saw people in the mirror—some very specific people.

 _“She was a very pretty woman,”_ Grubbly-Plank said haltingly. _“She had dark red hair, and her eyes…her eyes are just like mine_ … _No_ , Professor Umbridge, this is _not_ appropriate. This is an extremely private matter for Mr. Potter, and it should not be announced to the rest of the school without his permission.”

“I believe you will find _I_ have the final say on that matter, Professor Grubbly-Plank,” Umbridge said stiffly.

“Well, I won’t be a part of it!” she snapped. “You’re going too far. It’s pointless, demeaning, and potentially traumatising to do this to the boy. Find someone else to read it if you’re so insistent.”

“Very well,” Umbridge huffed, and she took out her own copy of the book and found her place to read aloud: _“What makes you think she is a witch? Well, she turned me into a newt. A newt? I got better. Burn her anyway—_ Wait, what? What is this nonsense?”

Fred and George started sniggering.

“Who tampered with my book?!”

“Would you like the complete suspect list, Dolores?” McGonagall asked. “I warn you, it’s a bit long.” When Umbridge wasn’t looking, she flashed the Twins a thumbs-up.

Hermione was biting her knuckles trying to hold back her laughter. “How do you two know Monty Python?” she whispered.

“Dad _does_ know a few things about muggles correctly,” said George.

Umbridge ranted a little longer about the “delinquents” who disrupted her reading, but finally, she said, “No matter. I’ll be reading next anyway,” and she drew her wand. “ _Accio_ correct book,” she cast, and Professor Grubbly-Plank’s copy leapt from her hands despite the woman’s protests and flew down the table to Umbridge. She found her place again and picked up the reading: _“Her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green—exactly the same shape, but then he noticed she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time…”_

Despite Fred’s and George’s little joke a minute ago, the Great Hall was in complete silence. Most people were too moved or too horrified to say anything about Harry’s family, and even the Slytherins were smart enough to be respectful about it. Most people weren’t quite sure what to make of it. His desire to be with his family already sounded a little unhealthy, Hermione thought—as if she didn’t have enough bad vibes about that mirror already, even hearing about it secondhand. Maybe that was how the Mirror got you, she wondered.

However, Harry, being unable to interpret the mirror writing, came to the erroneous conclusion that the Mirror showed one’s family. But when he took Ron to see it the next night, Ron saw himself standing alone in it—older—as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, having won the House Cup and Quidditch Cup, too. That should have made the Mirror’s secret obvious in retrospect; Ron had already told Harry his worries about living up to his brothers, but Harry wasn’t thinking clearly. But the third night, Hermione was already starting to see red flags of depression in the narration, but luckily, Harry was saved by Dumbledore who told him (in cryptic Dumbledore fashion) the Mirror of Erised’s true purpose.

 _“‘However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.’”_ Then, by coincidence, he said, the Mirror would be moved to a new location the very next night, but Harry would be forewarned of its power, just in case. _“‘It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live…’_ Well, now,” Umbridge commented, “I note that he only said that _after_ he knowingly allowed Potter to gaze into the dangerous magical mirror three nights in a row. And leaving a dangerous magical artifact like that just lying around? It’s almost like he _wanted_ Potter to find it, isn’t it, Minister?”

“Quite plausible, Dolores,” Fudge said. “Definitely suspicious. Might explain a few things about Potter, too. And I wonder where this valuable and dangerous artifact is now. Is it still sitting somewhere in the castle for some other poor student to stumble onto?”

Harry seethed at the implications. The Mirror hadn’t messed him up. He was perfectly fine afterwards. And it was a good job he _did_ know about it when he confronted Quirrell. Hermione, however, was lost in thought, her quill poised on her parchment.

“Excellent questions, Minister,” Umbridge agreed. “And I’m afraid ones I don’t have answers to. I’ll have to check the records to see if there’s any mention of where the Mirror of Erised is now, but knowing Dumbledore, there might not be. We’ll probably have to track him down to be sure.”

“Let’s keep hoping, then,” Fudge said.

Umbridge finished the chapter, to little consequence. Dumbledore claimed that he saw himself in the mirror holding a pair of thick, woollen socks and complained that no one had sent him any for Christmas. It took Harry all the way back to his dorm to realise Dumbledore probably wasn’t being truthful, which made his friends roll their eyes. He could be oblivious now and had been much more oblivious at eleven.

One look at Fred and George made it clear Dumbledore would be getting plenty of socks next Christmas.

Still, Hermione’s mind was racing. Several concerns presented themselves to her, and one she asked Harry about directly. “Harry,” she said, “did you really not know what your parents looked like before that?”

“No, I didn’t,” he said sadly. “Aunt Petunia didn’t keep any pictures of Mum, at least that I could see.”

“Awful woman,” Hermione muttered to herself. She’d never had siblings herself and couldn’t imagine how one could hate another so. “But when you saw your parents in the Mirror, did they look like the photographs?” she asked further.

“Yeah, they did. Why?”

“Well, technically, the Mirror _did_ give you knowledge, then,” she said. “It showed you what your parents looked like when you didn’t remember yourself. And even if you remembered them from when you were a baby, the grandparents, great-grandparents, and cousins it showed you you probably didn’t. I think Sirius mentioned once your grandparents died before you were born.”

“Huh,” was all Harry had to say.

After some thought, Hermione decided _that_ issue wasn’t all that important, although she made a note for later. The other questions, however, including Fudge’s, _were_ concerning. Why was the Mirror there and not guarding the Philosopher’s Stone? Why _did_ Dumbledore let Harry watch it for so long? And also, there was Dumbledore’s odd phrasing when he said it would be moved: _If you ever_ do _run across it, you will now be prepared._ But Dumbledore knew it was going to the forbidden corridor. Was he _expecting_ Harry to stumble upon it again? It didn’t make sense, but she didn’t like where this line of thought was going.

  1. _Why was the Mirror of Erised (probably the most important of the P.S._ _’s defences) either temporarily moved out of the forbidden corridor or not installed until halfway through the year?_
  2. _Is the timing of Dumbledore giving Harry his invisibility cloak at nearly the same time the Mirror was moved significant?_
  3. _Why did Dumbledore knowingly allow Harry to be exposed to a dangerous and mind-altering magical artifact for so long?_
  4. _Was Dumbledore expecting Harry to find the Mirror again (or even think it likely)?_
  5. _Is the Mirror in a safer place now?_




	13. Umbridge: Nicolas Flamel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: For better or worse, Dolores Umbridge belongs to JK Rowling.

“There’s no need to throw our new professors in the deep end today, I think,” Umbridge said. “I’ll go ahead and read the next chapter… _Chapter Thirteen: Nicolas Flamel._ ”

_“…Harry wished he could forget what he’d seen in the mirror as easily, but he couldn’t. He started having nightmares. Over and over again he dreamed about his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a high voice cackled with laughter.”_

Harry frowned. He really didn’t think the Mirror had messed him up, but that definitely wouldn’t look good, although the nightmares did start to go away when he was distracted by Quidditch training, though he had a whole new nightmare when Oliver Wood dropped the bombshell that Snape would be refereeing the next Quidditch match. Many of the younger students were surprised by that even now. They’d never seen anyone but Madam Hooch referee a Quidditch match, and the thought of Snape on a broomstick was so incongruous that it still seemed a little bit surreal.

_“‘Don’t play,’ said Hermione at once._

_“‘Say you’re ill,’ said Ron._

_“‘Pretend to break your leg,’ Hermione suggested._

_“‘_ Really _break your leg,_ _’ said Ron.”_

Hermione smacked her forehead at how stupid _both_ of their suggestions were. Madam Pomfrey would be able to see through most such ruses at once even if Harry were inclined to do it. If was funny to see how small their first-year problems seemed now, but then again, they _had_ truly believed Snape was trying to kill Harry at the time.

They were interrupted from their worrying, however, by Neville, who had been cursed by Malfoy with the Leg-Locker Curse and had somehow hopped up four flights of stairs and climbed through the portrait hole with his legs stuck together. Unfortunately, Hermione was the only one who didn’t laugh at him and undid the curse, to the shame of Neville’s friends now, although Ron and Harry had been suitably indignant.

But _that_ line of thought was also interrupted when Harry found Nicolas Flamel’s name on Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card, and Hermione made the connection with alchemy and the Philosospher’s Stone from her “light reading”. Harry and Hermione both felt embarrassed that the answer had been staring them in the face for months, and they’d missed it. Their younger selves promptly concluded that Snape was trying to steal the Stone, but as they didn’t know he had been a Death Eater, they thought it was merely out of greed. Snape did not look impressed by this conclusion.

“So it _was_ the Philosopher’s Stone,” Umbridge said. “And just _why_ was such a valuable and desirable artifact hidden in a school full of children when someone was attempting to steal it?”

“It was a personal favour on Dumbledore’s part to Nicolas Flamel,” McGonagall said. “Master Flamel believed the Stone was at risk, and Hogwarts _is_ regarded as the safest place in Britain, after all.”

“But surely, locked away in a forbidden corridor behind a cerberus that would be all too easy to put down? That we have already seen was far too easy for students to get into? Surely there were better options to hide such an artifact even within Hogwarts—ones that would not put the students at such risk. Did you not address these concerns at the time, Professor McGonagall?”

“I…did raise my concerns with the Headmaster at the time, Dolores,” she replied. “I was overruled and assured that he had the matter in hand.”

“Hmm…I wonder if a closer investigation of your story would stand up to scrutiny. I understand many of the teachers were involved in that incident, including the one who ultimately attempted to steal the Stone.”

“As we discussed before,” McGonagall said, “the greatest oversight in that affair was the failure to place an Age Line or a stronger Locking Charm on the corridor, and that was Dumbledore’s prerogative.”

“Dumbledore’s and Professor Flitwick’s, I believe,” Umbridge corrected, drawing hisses from the Ravenclaws. Flitwick was one of the few teachers whose conduct _hadn_ _’t_ been questioned so far this year. “Just because you were compartmentalising the work—or so the sketchy records from that year indicate—doesn’t excuse you being lax about the safety of your charges, does it?”

Flitwick lowered his head, shamefaced. That _was_ the sort of thing he ought to have done as a responsible Charms Master. Dumbledore had convinced them to do an awful lot of questionable things that year solely on the weight of his word, and he didn’t have any way to answer that one. He could only hope McGonagall was right about giving Umbridge enough rope to hang herself.

Harry _did_ work up the nerve to play in the Quidditch match, albeit in large part so that the Slytherins wouldn’t think he was too scared to do it. Ron and Hermione, however, taught themselves the Leg-Locker Curse to use on Snape if he tried to hurt Harry.

Snape groaned. “I’m not sure what’s worse, you two,” he said, “the fact that you considered cursing a man on a broomstick or the fact that you chose a curse that would do very little to _slow_ a man on a broomstick who was intent on causing harm. If I were your Defence teacher, I would take points. How was a Leg-Locker Curse supposed to stop me when I didn’t have my feet on the ground?”

Ron and Hermione blushed. In retrospect, that had been a pretty bad plan.

Dumbledore showed up when he hadn’t been there for the first match, so Harry was much less worried then. Snape, as they feared, _was_ biased against Gryffindor. However, Harry caught the Snitch in record time and won the game handily, although Ron and Neville were distracted from this by the fact that Malfoy decided to taunt them until they attacked him—Neville showing far more courage than he usually let on in the process—getting themselves beat up by Crabbe and Goyle. Umbridge spoke with barely concealed glee when she read Malfoy’s insults on Neville’s supposed incompetence and the Weasleys’ lack of money. Students and teachers alike grumbled at her for it, but she didn’t slow down.

“You really risked getting beat up by Crabbe and Goyle for that?” Parvati asked Neville, sounding impressed.

“Well, Malfoy was going after me and Ron,” he said, “and Ron had already jumped in, and I knew Crabbe and Goyle would slaughter him if I didn’t help. I still got clobbered, though,” he said regretfully.

“Well, _I_ think you’re brave, Neville,” she said. “And you’re getting pretty good at duelling in the you-know-what. I don’t think you’re going to get ‘clobbered’ like that again.”

Neville smiled a little.

 _“He’d really done something to be proud of now—no one could say he was just a famous name anymore,”_ Umbridge read. “Well, that didn’t last long, did it?”

Harry glared at her from the Gryffindor Table.

However, the Harry in the book happened to noticed Snape sneaking into the Forbidden Forest and decided to follow on his broom. “I think we’re seeing a pattern of rule-breaking here,” Umbridge said. “Potter seems to be sneaking out of bounds very often when he can get away with it. You see? This is why invisibility cloaks are not acceptable in Hogwarts.”

“Not to mention Potter being far too nosey for his own good,” Snape agreed. “That attitude is going to get him hurt sooner or later, especially when he acts on incomplete informatio,n as he tends to do.”

Harry felt like Snape was sending him a message there, although he honestly wasn’t sure whether it was about anything specific—probably something to do with why Dumbledore was keeping his distance from him this year or something annoying like that. He still didn’t care for the insinuation, though, especially coming from Snape.

In the story, Harry found Snape interrogating Quirrell about something he couldn’t quite follow regarding the Philosopher’s Stone.

_“‘Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?’_

_“‘B-b-but Severus, I—’_

_“‘You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,’ said Snape, taking a step towards him._

_“‘I-I don-t know what you—’_

_“‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’_

_“An owl hooted loudly and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, ‘—your little bit of hocus pocus. I’m waiting.’_

_“‘B-but I d-d-don’t—’_

_“‘Very well,’ Snape cut in. ‘We’ll have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie.’”_

“You know,” Harry whispered, “now that I think about it, that doesn’t really make much sense. I mean, knowing what Snape was _really_ doing, I don’t get what the stuff he said that I missed could have been.”

“Huh…yes, I don’t really follow that either, knowing what we know now,” Hermione agreed. “Either Snape thought Quirrell was using some kind of enchantment like we did at the time, or it wasn’t about that at all, and he was bringing up the first Quidditch match or something.”

“But what was he ‘waiting’ for?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said.

“And why confront him directly about Fluffy?” Harry added. “Wouldn’t that give him away?”

Ron thought about that. “Maybe he didn’t know Quirrell was possessed and was trying to scare him straight?” he suggested.

“That’s…actually plausible,” Hermione said. “The rest of the conversation still doesn’t make much sense, though.”

Harry shrugged. It really wasn’t that important, although it would have helped if Snape had been clearer. At the time, the three of them had come to the conclusion that Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone and was trying to force Quirrell to figure out how to get past Fluffy for him as well as revealing the key to his own protection.

 _“‘It’ll be gone by Tuesday,’ said Ron._ Hmpf. Such wild speculation against an upstanding teacher,” Umbridge said. “You’re right, Professor Snape. This is what happens when you act on incomplete information. _Very_ irresponsible. So, Professor McGonagall, would you care to continue?”

“Yes, I would care, Dolores,” McGonagall said, “but we both know know how _that_ conversation is going to end.” She opened the book and turned to the next chapter. “Oh, dear.”


	14. McGonagall: Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Norbert(a) the Norwegian Ridgeback belongs to JK Rowling.

_“Chapter Fourteen: Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback,”_ McGonagall read. “I have a bad feeling about this.” Most of the teachers looked confused. The Norbert incident wasn’t widely known.

“A Norwegian Ridgeback?” Umbridge said. “I believe dragons are Class-A Non-Tradeable Goods, are they not?”

“Indeed they are, Dolores,” Fudge said. “Take note, Auror Shacklebolt, Auror Dawlish. I’ll be very interested to see where this chapter goes.”

“Uh-oh,” Hermione said, looking more scared than she had all week.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Harry, what we did with Norbert _was_ technically illegal.”

“Oh…” he said. “How bad is it?”

“I don’t know. Ron, how illegal was that?”

“Eh, not too bad. Probably just a fine under the circumstances.”

“Even though Umbridge wants to really throw the book at Harry?”

“Well, it can’t be any worse than what they did to Hagrid,” Ron said.

“Ron! They expelled Hagrid and snapped his wand!” she hissed.

“Yeah, but they thought he’d _killed_ someone. No one got hurt by Norbert—well, besides me.”

“We need a plan,” Ginny whispered. “Do we attack if they try to arrest you two?”

Hermione bit her lip: “That sounds like a bad idea, Ginny.”

“But you said you thought Umbridge would go down today.”

Harry nodded: “I think so if she actually gets through all of this morning’s reading.”

“So we _make_ her do it,” Neville said with a grin. “I’m game if you guys are. They can’t stop all of us, not with half the teachers on our side.”

Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Fred, George, and pretty soon all of the Gryffindors in the D.A. started nodding in agreement. Harry suspected a few Gryffindors not in the D.A. would join in if it came to it. This could get massively out of hand very fast.

“Alright, alright,” Harry conceded. “But _only_ if Dawlish and Shacklebolt actually try to arrest us. If they’re just talking, or they say they’re gonna do it later, let them talk. I don’t want anyone else getting in trouble.”

The Gryffindor D.A. contingent quickly agreed. He still had a bad feeling about this.

In the story, Harry, Ron, and Hermione actually started trying to quietly encourage Quirrell, much to their horror now. There _was_ something to be said about the problem of acting on incomplete information. But Quirrell appeared to be resisting Snape’s pressure, so they thought everything was good aside from Hermione freaking out about “only” having ten weeks until exams.

“And she hasn’t changed a bit,” Ron said with a grin, making her blush and glare at him at the same time.

They then ran into Hagrid sneaking around (for a certain value of “sneaking”) and discreetly looking up books about dragons in the library. They already wanted to ask Hagrid more about Fluffy and the Philosopher’s Stone, so they naturally went to investigate. And unfortunately for the staff, in Hagrid’s sweltering-hot hut, Harry wheedled out of him the names of all the teachers who were involved in protecting the Philosopher’s Stone.

 _“‘…he borrowed Fluffy from me…then some o’ the teachers did enchantments…Professor Sprout—Professor Flitwick—Professor McGonagall—’ he ticked them off on his fingers, ‘Professor Quirrell—an’ Dumbledore himself did somethin’, o’ course. Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape.’_ Ah, there we go,” Umbridge said with her sickening smile. “Now we know everyone who was involved. It sounds like all of you were aware of what was going on in that forbidden corridor.” She looked from one teacher to the next. “So did none of you think to apply additional protections for the students?”

Suddenly, Professor Flitwick stood up. “I take full responsibility, Professor Umbridge,” he squeaked. “As you said, it was my prerogative to apply additional charms to keep the students safe.”

There were shouts of indignation from the Ravenclaw Table, but they were short-lived. They could see what he was doing. Unfortunately, it didn’t help much.

“That’s very noble of you Professor Flitwick,” Umbridge said, “but we both know you weren’t the only one to make serious mistakes in that incident. Still your teaching has been quite good over the years. You will be on probation pending a formal review of your actions—just so everyone has a clear picture of where you stand.

“ _Professor McGonagall_ ,” she continued without missing a beat, “I really should have done this sooner. As Deputy Headmistress, it was up to you to ensure that the students were kept safe if you saw any danger that the Headmaster missed. You were clearly derelict in your duty here. And from the records, it sounds like you haven’t done much better in subsequent years. In fact, what do you actually _do_ in your Deputy Head role, anyway?”

McGonagall ground her teeth and looked like she might turn Umbridge into a newt herself from sheer anger. “Send acceptance letters,” she said. “Handle much of the school’s correspondence. Make visits to muggle-born students. Help set the schedule, help process supply requests, play an active role in student discipline—”

“With various middling degrees of success,” Umbridge interrupted. “And serious deficiencies in one of your most important roles: keeping the school safe. In fact, if we look solely at your performance during the school year itself, it seems like you don’t do very much at all in that role, and what you do is of poor quality. Therefore, I’m afraid I’m going to have to remove you from your position as Deputy Headmistress.”

The Great Hall was in an uproar at once, with particularly loud shouting from the Gryffindor Table. It took several loud bangs from Umbridge and even from the Aurors to get everyone to calm down. It helped that Harry told his friends to quiet down and wait for the rest of the story, but he was really starting to feel like he was risking everything on this one gamble.

Once everyone had quieted down, Umbridge urged McGonagall to keep reading, although she was getting very nervous by this point. Based on Hagrid’s statement, Harry, Ron, and Hermione concluded that Snape knew how to get through all of the protections on the Philosopher’s Stone except Quirrell’s and Fluffy, which worried them greatly.

“Why did you think he knew how to get past Dumbledore?” Ginny asked. “I mean, Dumbledore’s definitely smarter than Snape.”

“I just figured Dumbledore told all the other teachers what he did,” Harry said. “It seems like something he’d do.”

 _“‘Hagrid—what’s_ that _?_ _’_

_“But he already knew what it was. In the heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg.”_

“A dragon egg, I’m sure,” Umbridge cut in. “And of course, dragon breeding is illegal outside of a reservation. We’ll have to add that to Hagrid’s warrant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dawlish said.

Hagrid had apparently won the egg in a card game from a stranger who seemed eager to get rid of it, for obvious reasons, and the “outdated” guidebook he was using said to regularly feed the hatchling chicken blood mixed with _brandy_. “Oh, Hagrid,” Minerva groaned. The man just didn’t _think_ sometimes.

_“He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn’t._

_“‘Hagrid, you live in a_ wooden house _,_ _’ she said._

_“But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.”_

“And gross negligence and reckless endangerment,” Umbridge said, and unfortunately, Minerva thought she was more or less correct that time.

_“‘Wonder what it’s like to have a peaceful life,’ Ron sighed…”_

“If you ever find out, you’ll have to tell me,” Harry said to Ron.

A couple of weeks later, the trio got to see “Norbert” hatching. Unfortunately, Malfoy overheard them arguing about it, and also sneaked out and saw it through the window. With Malfoy onto them, they had to get the dragon out of the castle quickly to keep Hagrid from getting in trouble. Harry eventually hit on the idea of asking Charlie for help, which finally convinced Hagrid to let him go.

“You know, Charlie says Norbert’s actually a girl dragon,” Ron said idly. “Calls her Norberta.”

Hermione smacked her forehead. Typical Hagrid mistake.

There wouldn’t have been too much trouble except that Norbert bit Ron, and Ridgeback bites were apparently poisonous. _“He didn’t know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey—would she recognise a dragon bite?”_

“I most certainly did recognise it,” Madam Pomfrey scoffed.

“And you didn’t report it?” Umbridge asked.

“I have a strict amnesty policy about questionable injuries so as not to discourage students from seeking help, Professor Umbridge,” she said. “I could name a dozen other equally questionable self-inflicted injuries from the past year alone from various students, and the only ones that led to serious trouble were the ones who delayed in coming to me.”

Umbridge grudgingly accepted that. And even this wouldn’t have been a problem in the story if Ron hadn’t been using Charlie’s letter as a bookmark in a book that Malfoy bullied him into loaning out to him. Hermione smacked him in the back of the head as she remembered.

“Wow, we were really idiots back then,” Harry said.

“Sometimes I wonder if we still are,” Hermione mused. “We’ve done some pretty foolish things since then.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to beat leaving the invisibility cloak on top of the Astronomy Tower,” Harry said. “I don’t know how I got distracted enough to forget something from my dad.”

Sure enough, not long after Malfoy got himself in trouble whilst trying to rat them out, they were caught.

 _“‘Well, well, well,’ he whispered. ‘We_ are _in trouble._ _’”_

“And there you have it,” Umbridge said loudly. “Not only has Potter engaged in some highly irresponsible use of magic over the years and regular flouting of school rules, but he and Granger are also party to illegal dragon smuggling. Aurors, I demand you arrest them at once.”

The tension rose in the Great Hall. Half of the D.A. went for their wands, including Harry himself, even as he motioned for them to calm down and stay still with his other hand. He hoped no one at the other tables who hadn’t got the message would jump the gun. That would do more harm than good, he was sure. Wand in hand under the table, he watched and waited.

Kingsley stood up with casual slowness and stepped to the middle of the High Table to face Umbridge with his hands behind his back. “That is a serious accusation…Headmistress,” he grumbled, “and those claims will be thoroughly investigated just like all the other issues you’ve raised this week. However, at the moment, the only evidence we have against Mr. Potter and Miss Granger is the book itself.”

“This book has been accurate in all points we’ve been able to verify, Auror Shacklebolt,” Umbridge said. “I’d say that counts as probable cause.”

“Well, perhaps it does,” Kingsley admitted. “Now, this incident occurred when? The spring of 1992? So just under four years ago.”

“And the statute of limitations for illegal smuggling of Class Five-X creatures is five years, Auror,” Fudge reminded him.

“But they were only eleven and twelve at the time, Minister,” Kingsley argued. “And they were clearly acting in a responsible, albeit unsanctioned way in the interest of protecting the school and a valuable member of an endangered species. There is a good case for prosecutorial discretion against issuing a warrant, not to mention prioritising of law enforcement resources.”

“And as Minister, I have the power to override that discretion. I order you to arrest Potter and Granger now.”

Kingsley and Dawlish looked at each other and then down at Harry and Hermione. Kingsley looked Harry straight in the eye, and Harry thought fast. If only they could read the next chapter, it would show Voldemort was back. He didn’t want a big fight, but they needed the Aurors to back off.

Harry winked at him.

“Play along,” he hissed to his friends.

Kingsley nodded almost imperceptibly and said, “I’m very sorry, Mr. Potter, but we must carry out our duty.” He and Dawlish started down the Gryffindor Table to reach Harry and Hermione, but they’d only gone a few steps when, as one, thirty or so students shot to their feet, wands drawn. Harry stood, but still held up his left hand, ordering them to hold their spells. A few Slytherins also stood in defence of the Aurors, but they were outnumbered.

“It seems we are at an impasse,” Kingsley said.

“Arrest all of them!” Fudge roared. “This is an insurrection!”

“Us and what army, Minister?”

“Why, the—” Fudge turned and saw that out of all the teachers, only Umbridge and the three new Ministry appointees were standing to support him. They may have been only facing students, but they were still outnumbered four to one.

“We need to call for backup!” Dawlish said.

“And by the time they get here the mob of angry students could curse all of us and take over the castle,” Kingsley said calmly. “I’m afraid we’ve been overpowered.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Umbridge demanded of the teachers. “Control your students! All of you, or you’re all fired!”

McGonagall rose to speak, but Harry was faster: “Or, we could reach a truce…Headmistress.”

The Great Hall was stunned into silence. Even most of the D.A. didn’t know what Harry was doing. “A truce?” Umbridge said. “What sort of truce do you mean, Mr. Potter?”

“Professor McGonagall, how many chapters are left in the book?” Harry asked.

She checked. “Three.”

“Then I suggest we read them and decide what to do afterwards,” Harry said.

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed at him: “What are you playing at, Mr. Potter?”

“Nothing, ma’am. It’s your book.”

She blinked a couple times. “Then why does it matter if we read the last three chapters?”

Had he miscalculated? Harry worried. Had she read to the end of the book after all and was now cutting it short deliberately? “I just think the school deserves to know the full story, ma’am,” he said. “After all, wasn’t that the whole point of this reading?”

“He does have a point, Dolores,” McGonagall said. “This was _your_ idea.”

“Really, Headmistress,” Harry continued. “You finish reading the rest of the book, and we’ll play nice and go along with whatever you decide to do.”

Hermione stared at Harry, thinking of all the ways that could go wrong. She wanted to berate him, but she just hissed, “You owe me” at his side.

Umbridge looked back and forth between the pair of them and McGonagall. “You know something,” she said.

“We know nothing that we haven’t already told you,” McGonagall replied, which technically true while tipping her off as little as possible. Harry himself had told her the true story of Voldemort’s appearance in his first year multiple times and was consistently ignored. Umbridge didn’t say anything, though. “Honestly, Dolores, it’s not like Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are going anywhere,” she added. “And as Mr. Potter said, it’s your book.”

Umbridge looked to Fudge and exchanged a few gestures, then turned back to Harry. “And all we have to do is finish the book, and you’ll come quietly?” she asked.

“Just finish the book,” Harry said, being deliberately vague. He looked around at the D.A. and added, “Trust me.” He sat down, although the others didn’t just yet with the wands pointed at them.

“Well, then…” Umbridge made her decision. “What are we waiting for? Aurors, stand down for now. Professor Flitwick, make yourself useful and read the next chapter. If Mr. Potter wants his full story, he’ll get it.”


	15. Flitwick: The Forbidden Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Firenze belongs to JK Rowling.

_“Chapter Fifteen: The Forbidden Forest,”_ Professor Flitwick read.

“And just what were you doing in the Forbidden Forest _this_ time, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge asked.

“Detention,” Harry called smugly, shutting her down at once.

“Oh, dear, I remember that,” Flitwick said.

“Unfortunately,” McGonagall agreed with a groan. “Lucius Malfoy raised such a stink, half the staff were lucky to get away with our jobs.”

“Oh?” Umbridge said with interest. “I don’t remember hearing about this. Just what happened?”

“Let Filius keep reading, Dolores. I’m sure you’ll hear all about it. It was kept quiet at the time. And most of the people he accused had nothing to do with it, but it was still a bad week.”

“Yes, it was… _Things couldn_ _’t have been worse…_ ” Flitwick read quickly, but Harry’s assessment was soon proved wrong when he and Hermione met with Professor McGonagall, who also produced Neville—who had been caught trying to warn them about Malfoy.

_“‘I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock and bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I’ve already caught him. I suppose you thought it’s funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?’”_

“I’m sorry Minerva, but I really need to stop a moment there,” Flitwick said. “That seems oddly uncharitable of you. Even in their first year, I wouldn’t have believed Mr. Potter and Miss Granger would treat Mr. Longbottom like that. A prank like that on Mr. Malfoy is one thing, but both of them have always been kind to their friends. And besides, if that was what they were doing, there would be no reason for them to be out of bed, too.”

“I suppose that was a bit unfair, Filius,” McGonagall admitted. “I remember that night myself. It was right after the unicorns started being found dead in the Forest. I was worried about that and the safety of the Philosopher’s Stone, and I was frustrated by having to deal with three separate incidents in a row that night. I admit my temper was running a bit shorter than it ought to.”

“I’m rather more concerned about your dishonesty with your students, Minerva,” Filius replied. “Listen to this: _‘I’m disgusted,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Four students out of bed in one night! I’ve never heard of such a thing before!’_ Really, Mr. Potter’s own father and his three friends did that on a monthly basis.” There was some scattered laughter in the Great Hall, along with an unsettling dark giggle from Umbridge.

“Well, I certainly didn’t want to give them any ideas,” McGonagall said. “I was hoping that one really harsh talking to and a concomitant punishment would scare them straight. It does often enough with the younger students.”

“Not with Potter, though,” Umbridge cut in.

“Through no fault of his own most of the time. It was a fair strategy.”

“I’m still not sure I agree with your methods, Minerva,” Flitwick countered. _“‘All three of you will receive detentions—yes, you too, Mr. Longbottom,_ nothing _gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it_ _’s very dangerous—’_ ‘Especially these days?’ that sounds like a fair justification, but did the students actually know that? I don’t think we ever told them that things were more dangerous than usual. The whole affair was supposed to be secret.”

McGonagall frowned as if she didn’t quite understand the question. “But I thought…” she started. “I…I was thinking about the dead unicorns, I think. I would have thought the infamous Hogwarts rumour mill would have had it all the way around the school by then. If Mr. Potter didn’t know it—”

“If he had been preoccupied worrying about his friends, perhaps?” Flitwick asked. The answer was obvious. “Well, this is a fine kettle of shrakes. A harsh talking-to is one thing, but if the children don’t understand _why_ they are docked fifty points apiece, they won’t learn very much.” And fifty points apiece was exactly what they lost, as well as receiving detention, much to the childrens’ horror. _“‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Potter. Now get back to bed, all of you. I’ve never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students.’_ Ooh. That had to hurt.”

“Perhaps I _was_ laying it on a bit thick,” McGonagall admitted.

“A bit?” Professor Sprout jumped in. “Even by your standards, that’s more than a bit, Minerva. And you were especially unfair to Mr. Longbottom in particular. You’re not normally prone to favouritism.”

McGonagall furrowed her brow: “What do you mean, Pomona?”

“Well, you yourself said he wasn’t acting maliciously, while you believed Mr. Potter and Miss Granger were, and I seem to recall you only took twenty points from Mr. Malfoy under similar circumstances. Shouldn’t Mr. Longbottom’s punishment have been the same as his?”

She opened her mouth, but closed it again, hanging her head. “You’re right,” she said. “I was worried and angry, and I took it out unfairly on those three students, Mr. Longbottom in particular.” She looked down at her fifth-years. “I apologise to all three of you. And Mr. Longbottom, Professor Sprout is right: that deduction was inappropriate, even given what I thought I knew at the time. Unfortunately, it’s too late correct that error, although Gryffindor won the House Cup that year regardless.”

Umbridge giggled again. The effect was unsettling. “And that is yet more evidence of your own mismanagement, isn’t it, Professor McGonagall?”

At that, McGonagall drew herself up again. “Dolores, if you are referring to your assertion that I should be taking on less work here at Hogwarts…I decline to make a statement until after we finish the book.”

There was some laughter at that, but Hermione was frowning down at the Gryffindor Table. “What is it?” Ron said.

“Guys…I think maybe she actually agrees.”

“What?” Ron hissed.

“What does that mean?” Harry said.

“I don’t know. With Dumbledore maybe not coming back…I don’t know, but I think she might give up one of her jobs if she can.”

“But who’ll replace her then?” said Ginny.

“I don’t know.”

“Hopefully with Umbridge and Fudge gone, we won’t have to worry about it,” Harry said. “It won’t be so bad, then.”

_“‘Harry didn’t sleep all night. He could hear Neville sobbing into his pillow for what seemed like hours.’”_

Neville blushed deep red and tried to sink under the table. “I’m sorry I never said anything, Neville,” Harry muttered. “It was worse for you, and it was my fault.”

“I cried all night, too,” Hermione said comfortingly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what my parents would say about me getting a detention.”

“For me, it was Gran,” Neville said, so softly they could barely hear him. Parvati gently patted his hand. “And the rest of Gryffindor hating me, too, but Gran sent me a Howler…It was ugly.”

_“‘Only Ron stood by him.’”_

“Because I was too distraught to do anything but finish my homework,” Hermione said. “Sorry.”

Professor McGonagall winced, as from what the book said, the punishment seemed to have broken Hermione’s spirit, which wasn’t at all what she intended. At least the girl had recovered since. Meanwhile, Harry tried to resign in shame from the Quidditch team, but luckily, Wood stopped him.

This sad state of affairs ran on for several weeks—an unusually long time to stew between assigning a detention and administering it, students and teachers alike noted. About a week before exams, Harry, by sheer coincidence, overheard Professor Quirrell apparently being threatened by someone. He couldn’t actually hear the other person, but he interpreted it to mean that Snape had finally forced him to give up the secret of his protection on the Philosopher’s Stone, leaving only Fluffy—hopefully—to guard it. Hermione said they should tell Dumbledore, but Harry—somewhat uncharacteristically—refused, saying they didn’t have a strong enough case, and he was done poking around and getting in trouble.

“Huh. I forgot how…timid, I guess, you could be your first year,” Hermione said.

“Growing up with the Dursleys,” Harry replied. “But I try to avoid trouble regardless. I just doesn’t usually succeed.”

The next night, Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Malfoy finally had their detention—at eleven o’clock at night, in what turned out to be a foray into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid. Many of the students who didn’t know about the incident gasped. A detention in the Forest? At _night_? The place was supposed to be far too dangerous for that. And their horror only grew as their task was described. They were to track down a wounded unicorn—when there was a beast in the Forest killing unicorns—creatures that were nearly impossible to catch, let alone kill, and normally had no natural predators. Filch seemed positively gleeful at the prospect that the children might be killed out there. And Hagrid—he seemed to think he was being an appropriately stern authority figure and casually downplayed the risk.

“That’s quite enough!” Umbridge snapped, standing up.

“Child endangerment. Possible child abuse. Conspiracy,” Fudge said. “Really! Going into a forest where there’s known to be a beast that could kill unicorns? How could you possibly approve of this, McGonagall?”

“I didn’t know until Lucius Malfoy came into my office spitting fire and demanding answers, Minister,” she said. “And I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it at the time with _him_ involved. All I knew was that they served their detention with Hagrid. I assumed it was something mundane—or at least sane.”

“At eleven o’clock at night?” Umbridge pressed.

“ _That_ isn’t unheard of, Dolores. Professor Sinistra does it, too. I thought being out late whilst supervised when they didn’t want to be would be a fitting punishment for being out late _un_ -supervised. Night detentions _are_ hard to schedule; that’s why it took so long. But there are sufficiently menial groundskeeping tasks that have to be done at night to keep a few first-years busy. In any case, a thorough enquiry was made, and the only people found to be at fault were Hagrid and Filch.”

“Aha. Both employed by Dumbledore, I believe?” Umbridge said triumphantly.

“Yes, for what it’s worth, but that applies to most of the staff.”

“And Hagrid has a long enough record against him,” she pointed out. “As for Mr. Filch…we’ll talk later.”

“Excuse me, Dolores?” McGonagall interrupted. “I think we can talk _now_. Mr. Filch, I find some of this material _very_ interesting. Not all of it came out in the enquiry, did it? You _allowed_ four young students to go on a dangerous assignment in the Forbidden Forest where you claimed to believe they would be seriously injured or worse? You taunted them with this fact and never reported the danger to the staff?”

“No one gave me lip for it then,” Filch said. “Little brats had it coming. Never learn, do they, ‘less you try the old punishments.”

“ _No._ That’s it,” McGonagall snapped. “I should have done this long ago. Filch, you’re fired.”

The Great Hall erupted in cheers. Even the Slytherins were glad to see him go, and not just because he was a squib.

“NO! NO!” Umbridge’s voice finally came through when the students quieted down. “I’m overruling that!” There were shouts of indignation, but the teachers all joined together to quiet them again.

“Dolores, I will appeal your overruling to the Board,” McGonagall said. “Even without Lucius Malfoy, I suspect they’ll take my side. You can use corporal punishment on the students, even have them whipped like you and Filch seem to want so much, and unfortunately, I probably can’t stop you. But I draw the line at wilfully sending them into the Forbidden Forest with a dangerous creature that clearly has them outclassed. And you can be sure the next time I see Hagrid, I will be having a long talk about this with him, too, but he at least has the excuse of being a lovable fool. Filch is neither.”

“You—you can’t do this to me!” Filch shouted, shaking his fist at her as he turned red-faced.

“I can and I will, Filch. Now sit down, and shut up.”

He did.

There was silence for a minute before with nothing else to be said, Flitwick started reading again. When they got into the Forest, Hagrid made them split up.

“Clearly never seen a horror film,” Dean Thomas said.

_“‘I want Fang,’ said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang’s long teeth._

_“‘All right, but I warn yeh, he’s a coward,’ said Hagrid.”_

Hermione smacked her forehead hard. “He _just said_ Fang was supposed to be adequate protection. You know, I hate to admit it, but that really was bone-dead stupid of Hagrid,” she said.

“I hate to admit it, too, but I think you’re right,” Harry agreed.

“I mean, I understand _why_ he did it,” she continued. “I think he really didn’t see the risk.”

“But something that can kill _unicorns?_ ” Parvati said in horror.

“Hagrid’s huge, Parvati. And half-giant, so he’s magically tough. People joke about him wrestling trolls, but he really _can,_ while one nearly killed three of us. I think it’s just not obvious to him what’s dangerous to other people.”

Hagrid _was_ responsible enough pay serious attention to protecting Harry and Hermione as they made their way through the Forest, so it wasn’t a total mess. They ran into a couple of centaurs who noted that Mars was “unusually” bright (which was astronomically meaningless according to Hermione) and gave cryptic, incomprehensible answers to all of their practical questions.

Then, Hagrid left Harry and Hermione alone to help Neville and Malfoy when they sent up red sparks.

“Yep, definitely never seen a horror movie,” Dean repeated.

“Though to be fair, it’s Hagrid who would get killed in a horror movie going off to investigate something, not us,” Hermione said, earning disturbed looks from the rest of her friends, including Harry.

But it turned out that Malfoy had scared Neville as a joke, causing him to send up the red sparks. Hagrid solved this by rearranging the groups and having them split up again.

“Remind me never to get detention with Hagrid,” Dean said. “The black guy always dies first.”

Hermione giggled, which got the two of them even more disturbed stares. “Scary stories that muggles tell,” she explained. “They always follow a weird patterns like that.”

Harry, Malfoy, and Fang went off and soon found the dying unicorn bleeding out on the ground. Many of the students audibly moaned, knowing how horrible the crime of slaying a unicorn was. The tension rose like something out of the horror movies Dean kept referencing as he described a shadowy, hooded figure crawling across the ground and bending down to drink the creature’s blood, and then…

_“‘AAAAAAAAAAARGH!’”_

Half the school screamed this time, not just McGonagall. Several people retched at the thought of someone or something actually drinking unicorn blood. Then, Flitwick revealed that it was actually _Malfoy_ who screamed, not Harry, and he and Fang bolted. Harry was paralysed by the blinding pain shooting through his scar as the dark figure ran towards him.

But then a centaur appeared and chased it off. The students sighed with relief.

“I’m surprised a centaur was enough to stop You-Know-Who,” Ginny pointed out.

“He was still possessing Quirrell, and he was pretty weak,” Harry said. “Looking back, I’m more surprised Quirrell could fight as well as he did at the end.”

 _“‘You are the Potter boy,’ he said. ‘You had better get back to Hagrid. The forest is not safe at this time—especially for you. Can you—’”_ Flitwick choked suddenly. _“‘Can you ride?’_ Merlin’s beard. A centaur _offered_ to give him a ride? Unsolicited?”

“Well, the boy _does_ like to consort with creatures of near-human intelligence,” Umbridge sniffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I’ll be sure to tell the centaurs you said that, Dolores,” McGonagall said with a smile, causing sniggers from some of the older students.

The centaur—Firenze—did give Harry a ride back to Hagrid, drawing the ire of the other centaurs, both for behaving like a “common mule” and for interfering with “what has been foretold”—something that Harry now noted with dismay would make them pretty unreliable in a war. It was too bad. A good archer had more range than most wizards could aim their wands.

Firenze explained why the creature in the Forest was such a heinous monster—what many of the older students had already been whispering to the younger ones—that unicorn blood could save one’s life, but only at the cost of falling under a dark curse—a curse so horrible that the drinker must be desperate to get their hands on the Philosopher’s Stone in order to get something stronger.

“That’s awfully vague,” Hermione whispered. “What does the unicorn blood actually _do_ to you?” Harry only shrugged in response.

 _“‘Do you mean,’ Harry croaked, ‘that was_ Vol _—_ _’”_

“Excuse me?” Umbridge said imperiously.

“I’m afraid he was cut off, Professor Umbridge,” Flitwick said, “but it was obvious that he meant…V-Voldemort—and it would fit the evidence, too.”

“That is a lie!” she snapped. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead!”

“I’m only telling you what _your_ book says,” Flitwick replied. “Perhaps if we continue, it will explain. Ahem…” He continued before she could cut him off again. In the story, Hagrid found Harry again, and Harry returned to the school and told Hermione and Ron everything. He had concluded, he said, that Snape was secretly working for Voldemort and trying to get the Philosopher’s Stone to restore him to power.

“You know, Severus,” Flitwick said, “even though we now know he was wrong, it’s eerie how much sense that conclusion makes, especially since, at the time, I believe Mr. Potter did not know you were a turncoat Death Eater.”

Snape didn’t answer, but looked like he’d bitten into a lemon.

“So Potter _was_ wrong?” asked Umbridge.

“Wrong about Severus being involved. I won’t speak to the rest of it.”

“He was wrong about that, too!”

“ _Something_ killed that unicorn, Dolores,” McGonagall spoke up. “That’s in the records for you to see anytime. And not many people could, much less would.”

“He is _dead!_ ” Umbridge hissed.

“Regardless, you agreed to finish the book. So Filius, please continue.”

Flitwick nodded and finished the chapter. Hermione pointed out that Voldemort couldn’t make a move while Dumbledore was at the school (“Famous last words,” muttered Harry), and finally, Harry found that his invisibility cloak had been returned to him _“Just in case.”_

“Just in case you needed it?” Hermione said in confusion.

“Well, things _were_ getting really dangerous,” Harry pointed out. “And anyway, it was a family heirloom, so Dumbledore ought to have given it back regardless.”

“I suppose. Boy, this book really is saving everything for the last minute, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but remember, we didn’t have a clue ourselves till after exams,” Harry pointed out. “And we didn’t get the full story till Dumbledore told us after it all happened.”

“Hmm…” Hermione pondered that. Some didn’t quite seem to fit. She wrote down another pair of questions.

  1. _Did Dumbledore know anything about the detention in the Forbidden Forest?_
  2. _If so, why did he allow it?_



“That doesn’t make sense,” Harry said, reading off her parchment. “Why would he have done?”

“I don’t know. Harry, remember how after everything, Dumbledore said Voldemort never could have got the Philosopher’s Stone out of the Mirror on his own? And we never would have even suspected Voldemort if Firenze hadn’t told you.”

“So? If we hadn’t got that detention, everything would have been fine because we never would have gone down there and thrown a spanner in the works.”

“Yes, that’s the simplest explanation,” she agreed, “but that doesn’t explain what that business with the Mirror was about over Christmas.”

Harry frowned: “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t add up, though…I’ll get back to you after the next chapter.”


	16. Sprout: Through the Trapdoor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Lord Voldemort belongs to JK Rowling.

“Oh, this isn’t going to end well, either,” said Professor Sprout. “I remember this week, too. _Chapter Sixteen: Through the Trapdoor._

_“In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected V…Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment…”_

“As opposed to now, when I call it Wednesday,” Harry said, though from his friends’ faces, it wasn’t as funny as it sounded in his head. In the story, he’d been having headaches ever since the encounter in the Forest. At the time, Ron and Hermione would have been really worried if they’d known the full truth; a curse scar flaring up like that tended to be bad news. But now, with Voldemort back, it was so commonplace for him as to be almost ignored.

They did get through their exams, but that was when the trouble really started. Harry suddenly realised that it was suspicious that a stranger who ran into Hagrid just happened to have the dragon egg he wanted so much. After a quick interrogation of Hagrid, he deduced that Hagrid had already told the stranger—Snape, he believed—how to control Fluffy: just play some music.

“Which in retrospect, any muggle-born could have guessed from the myth of Orpheus,” Hermione pointed out. “Which is worrying in itself. Cerberi wouldn’t make very guard dogs if everyone knows how to tame them.”

“But it worked for with You-Know-Who—at least until Hagrid told him,” Ron pointed out.

“Only by luck,” she countered. “Voldemort grew up in an orphanage—no orphanages in the magical world. And Quirrell was the Muggle Studies Professor before he taught Defence. Either of them could have known.”

No one had an answer to that. In the story, in response to this revelation—which they believed meant Snape could now get through all the protections on the Philosopher’s Stone, the trio actually did do the responsible thing: try to warn Dumbledore. Unfortunately, Dumbledore wasn’t in the castle. He’d been “called away” urgently, Professor McGonagall said.

 _“‘I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it’s too well protected.’_ But I think it nearly _did_ get stolen, though,” Professor Sprout said.

“Through an unfortunate chain of errors, yes,” McGonagall admitted. “I do stand by what I said, though. By any reasonable measure, there was no realistic thought of anyone being able to steal the Stone, and no way for the three of them to make it any safer.”

“Except we’ve already discussed the fact that we weren’t doing all we could to protect it. I don’t know…” she shook her head and kept reading. The trio happened to run into Snape, who scared the with his usual suspicion and threats, which seemed all the worse under the circumstances: _“‘Be warned, Potter—any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled.’_ Honestly, Severus, you can’t just say that. It would take a lot more than breaking curfew any number of times to expel a student.”

“And if that rule had been different when Potter’s father and his friends were here, things might have gone much better.”

“A bit melodramatic, aren’t you, Severus?” Sprout said. He glared at her.

The trio’s next plan, to keep an eye out on the forbidden corridor—the rest wasn’t specified, but it was implied they would alert the teachers if Snape made a move for the Stone—didn’t go any better. _“‘If I hear you’ve come anywhere near here again, I’ll take another fifty points from Gryffindor! Yes, Weasley, from my own house.’”_ At that, Sprout merely gave a disapproving look at McGonagall.

“I was trying to keep them safe, Pomona,” she defended herself. “I was sure they’d go poking their noses where they didn’t belong sooner or later, and I was worried about the person who was _really_ trying to steal the Stone.”

“And the fact that Mr. Potter felt the only thing he could do was to go down there and steal the Stone first, Minerva?” she pressed.

“Potter was only a first-year. If I’d known then his peculiar propensity for getting into mortal peril, I would have acted differently.”

“You made yourself _unapproachable_ ,” said Sprout. “I’ve seen it before. You made them feel they couldn’t go for help because they’d only receive punishment for their trouble. And that’s not just on you, I admit. We all should have realised how flimsy the security on that door was.”

“I can agree with that, Pomona. We all made mistakes, but we can’t change the past. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

Harry had decided on a course of action, and nothing was going to dissuade him. He even made an impassioned speech that got the audience cheering him on, even if it hit a little too close to home these days: _“‘D’you think he’ll leave you and your families alone if Gryffindor win the house cup? If I get caught before I can get to the Stone, well, I’ll have to go back to the Dursleys and wait for Voldemort to find me there. It’s only dying a bit later than I would have done, because I’m never going over to the Dark Side!’”_

Of course, his two best friends went with him. After everyone went to bed, they prepared to leave, only to be blocked by Neville, who wanted to stop them from causing any more trouble for Gryffindor. Hermione uncomfortably thought that he sounded a lot like she had in the book a few chapters ago.

_“‘I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!’_

_“‘Yes, but not to_ us _,_ _’ said Ron in exasperation.”_

Hermione smacked her forehead. “Really, Ron?”

In the story, however, Hermione used the full Body-Bind on Neville to get him out of their way.

“Oh, sorry, Neville,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he replied. “I understood after you explained to me what happened. Heh, just my own bad luck for picking the wrong time to start standing up to people. Crazy stuff happens around you guys.”

“Story of my life,” Harry muttered.

Harry sneaked them past Peeves by imitating the Bloody Baron, which surprisingly worked. (Peeves wasn’t very bright.) And he got them past Fluffy by playing the flute Hagrid had given him, and they jumped down the trapdoor.

“Which was pretty stupid,” Hermione pointed out. “There could have been a spike pit at the bottom—probably _should_ have been if they were serious about it.”

But instead of a spike pit, they landed on something soft—which turned out to be Devil’s Snare—hazardous, but easily dispatched with fire.

_“‘Yes—of course—but there’s no wood!’ Hermione cried, wringing her hands._

_“‘HAVE YOU GONE MAD?’ Ron bellowed. ‘ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?’”_

Most of the Great Hall laughed. Hermione was embarrassed, but when she heard Draco Malfoy’s voice over the laughter saying, “Ha! Stupid mudblood!” it made her blood boil. Someday, she’d show him…

The room with the Devil’s Snare led into another one with a door on the other side that _couldn_ _’t_ be opened with _Alohomora_.

“Okay, that’s it!” Hermione hissed. “Something is rotten in the state of Scotland.”

  1. _Why was a soft landing provided for the trapdoor?_
  2. _Why wasn_ _’t something more dangerous guarding the door, like Venomous Tentacula or a man-eating fungus?_
  3. _Why was there an Anti-Alohomora Charm on the Key Room and not Fluffy_ _’s door?_
  4. _Why was the key to the Key Room in the Key Room?_



She underlined this last part three times.

“Why was there an Anti-Alohomora Charm on that room and not the door to the corridor?” Sprout asked.

“I enchanted that room,” Professor Flitwick said. “I actually had the sense to include one. I’m still not sure what the problem was with the corridor door.”

“And…why was the correct key actually _in_ that room?”

“Professor Dumbledore wanted it that way,” he said uncomfortably. “I told him it didn’t make any sense at the time, but he insisted.”

“Aha! So Dumbledore was actively sabotaging his own protections?” Umbridge said triumphantly.

“I…I’m honestly not sure what his plan was,” Flitwick admitted. “I know it made sense at the time, but I can’t quite remember how it was put together.”

“Well, something is definitely fishy about that, even if only Dumbledore himself knew the full extent. I’m thinking criminal negligence on this one, aren’t you, Cornelius?”

“Yes, I am, Dolores,” Fudge said. “And possibly dereliction of duty and breach of contract, depending on what his agreement with Flamel was. Oh, yes, this is just one most spot of trouble for him.”

At the Gryffindor Table, Hermione shook her head. “This is bad,” she said. “I think they might be right.”

“What?” her friends said in horror.

“The Stone really _wasn_ _’t_ that well protected. Okay, yes, with the Mirror, it was, but we know the Mirror wasn’t down there the whole time. And the rest of the protections were a total mess. I mean three first-years got through them…Holy cricket!”

  1. _Why were the protections on the Philosopher_ _’s Stone so simple three first-years could get through them? Was it intentional?_



“Intentional?” Harry said. “Why would it be intentional?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ve got a bad feeling.” If only she could make sense of it.

It soon proved that the correct key was not only in the Key Room, but was easily identifiable and accessible by broomsticks _that were also in the Key Room!_

  1. _Why were broomsticks provided in the Key Room?_



The next room contained a giant chess set. Ron was by far the best of the three at chess, so he successfully played their way across. Unfortunately, it was wizard’s chess, complete with the smashing of captured pieces. This part was well enough known; Percy had been bragging about it for the rest of the term afterwards, but the students still sat in rapt attention as Ron sacrificed himself to be captured by the white queen to get Harry and Hermione through, getting severely clubbed in the head in the process. He’d been lucky to have recovered so quickly.

  1. _Why include a chess game, which was beatable, when they could have included transfigured stone warriors that you had to fight?_



The next room contained a huge mountain troll, which had already been knocked out. That was actually sensible. Security trolls existed. But a single troll would not be considered strong enough or vigilant enough to do the job on its own. Also…

  1. _How was the troll being fed deep under the forbidden corridor?_



After the troll was a room bounded by cursed fire and an elaborate riddle placed by Snape.

 _“‘_ Brilliant _,_ _’ said Hermione. ‘This isn’t magic—it’s logic—a puzzle. A lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic, they’d be stuck here forever.’”_

“Wow, I was an idiot when I was twelve,” Hermione said at the Gryffindor Table, shaking her head.

“Huh?” said Harry and Ron.

“The Ravenclaws have to answer a riddle to get into their common room. I bet most of them could have solved it, and Quirrell _was_ a Ravenclaw. I checked afterwards. And really, this is Snape we’re talking about. Wouldn’t it have been his style to lie about the riddle and make the answer a different bottle—or none of them—at least for the one to move forward?”

Harry looked at her in horror. He’d never thought of that, and under the circumstances, he really, _really_ should have. Moody was right; he wasn’t being paranoid enough.

  1. _Why was Snape_ _’s riddle truthful?_



_“‘Me!’ said Hermione. ‘Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh Harry—be_ careful _!_ _’”_

“Oh? Friendship and bravery and _what_ , Hermione?” asked Fred, wagging his eyebrows.

Hermione blushed heavily. “I was going to say kindness. And then diligence and patience and humility, and I realised I was about to go into a whole list, and I had to stop myself before I got hysterical.”

And then, there was only enough of the potion for one of them, so Harry had to go on alone.

 _“There was already someone there—but it wasn’t Snape. It wasn’t even V-Voldemort…_ Oh, a cliffhanger! Quickly, Severus, you have the last chapter. Get to it!” Sprout said.


	17. Snape: The Man with Two Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Albus Dumbledore belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> The reveals in this chapter were inspired heavily by Josie Kearns’ essay on Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone at the Harry Potter Companion blog.
> 
> So I didn’t realise until this chapter that Nicolas Flamel is spelt with an ‘h’ in the US Edition, but with no ‘h’ in the UK Edition. This has been corrected in the previous chapters.
> 
> This is the final chapter of A Dramatic Reading. I think I’ve reached a good place to conclude—the end of the first book with Harry vindicated, Fudge and Umbridge ousted, and Sirius on the inevitable path to freedom. And besides all that, I think I’ve worked the urge to write a reading-the-books story out of my system for the time being.
> 
> But this is NOT the end of the story. I am beta-reading for Srikanth1808 who is working on the sequel, A Sensational Story, now available on AO3! Just click through to the next story in the series.

“Well, good,” Professor Snape said patronisingly as he took the book. “At least we know it wasn’t me, then. _Chapter Seventeen: The Man with Two Faces._

_“It was Quirrell.”_

“Which we already knew,” Professor Flitwick said disappointedly.

“There, you see? Potter was delusional after all,” said Umbridge.

“Don’t count your owls before they’re delivered, Professor Umbridge,” Snape replied coolly. It was indeed Quirrell, despite Harry’s belief that Snape was behind everything. _“‘Severus?’ Quirrell laughed and it wasn’t his usual quivering treble, either, but cold and sharp. ‘Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? So useful to have him swooping around like an…overgrown bat,’”_ he grumbled, to the amusement of the Gryffindors. _“‘Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?’”_

Quirrell bound Harry in ropes and quickly cleared up his misconceptions. He had tried to kill Harry at the Quidditch match, while Snape had tried to save him (which the audience already knew). He had let the troll into the castle as a distraction, but Snape prevented him from going after the Philosopher’s Stone. Snape had been trying to scare him out of the service of…

 _“‘Tried to frighten me—as though he could, when I had…’”_ And he was stumped. It was unwise for a Death Eater to say the Dark Lord’s name, even away from the hearing of any others. But using one of the usual euphemisms wasn’t particularly appropriate either, while on the other hand, calling him the Dark Lord would draw unwanted attention and suspicion to himself that he could ill afford.

“Honestly, Severus, if _I_ can say it…” Pomona interrupted his thoughts.

Well, that settled it. Now, it was a challenge, which gave him and opening. “Very well, Pomona,” he said, _“‘when I had Lord…V…Voldemort—’”_ He barely whispered the name. _“‘—on my side.’”_

“What? What did you say?” Umbridge said.

“I said,” Snape began, “the book says, in Quirrell’s own words, that he was working for…Lord Voldemort.”

“No. No, that’s wrong.”

“That is what the book says, Professor Umbridge. Once again, you _are_ the one who gave it to us. Surely you didn’t begin this exercise without reading the whole thing yourself?” he mocked her.

“I…but…that’s beside the point!” she snapped. “This reading is over. Give that to me.” She rose to her feet and held out her hand for Snape to hand over the book.

“Ahem, I believe you had an agreement with Mr. Potter, Dolores,” Minerva spoke up.

Meanwhile, Severus started reading again: _“Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.”_ Of course, the Philosopher’s Stone had been hidden in the Mirror of Erised, which the audience _didn_ _’t_ know.

“I said stop that!” Umbridge snatched the book out of his hand. “We’ve heard enough. Aurors, arrest Potter!”

Harry stood up, but waved to the rest of the D.A. to stay seated. “We had an agreement, Professor,” he called. “You have to finish the book before I’ll cooperate.”

“The agreement is over, Potter!”

“Actually, Professor Umbridge,” Kingsley spoke up lazily, “I’d be very interested in hearing the ending of the story.”

A chorus of “Yeah!” sounded from most of the students and some of the teachers.

“No!” Fudge cut in. “It’s a lie. Potter was clearly delusional that whole time—probably from drinking that bad potion.”

“Are you questioning my brewing skills, Minister?” Snape asked dangerously.

“I’m questioning your loyalty, Snape,” Fudge growled. “Stand down before I investigate you, too. Aurors, get Potter. Call for backup if you have to, but I want him in custody!”

Dawlish jumped to his feet and approached Harry. Kingsley made a show of getting up, but hung back.

Harry made a gesture, barely noticed if you didn’t know what to look for, and Dumbledore’s Army stood up. There was a flash of spellfire, and a moment later, Dawlish was unconscious and tied up on the ground.

“Weasley, get help!”

Percy jumped up and ran, but he didn’t get far. He was out cold.

“Sedition! Rebellion!” Fudge bellowed. “Teachers, stop them!” He drew his own wand and attacked.

Yet more spellfire was exchanged, but when the dust cleared, only Umbridge, Filch, and the new Defence teacher, Peasegood, were tied up alongside Fudge, Dawlish, and Percy.

“Croaker, why didn’t you do anything?” Fudge shouted at the new Divination teacher.

“I foresaw that it wouldn’t help, Minister,” the Unspeakable said with a grin.

Fudge then turned to Shacklebolt, who said, “I’m not the one who violated the agreement with Potter, sir. Also, I just really want to hear the end of the story.” The students laughed.

“Well, it won’t do you any good,” Umbridge said. Despite being bound in ropes, she still wasn’t giving up. “I’ve already vanished my copy of the book. The original is under lock and key in my office, and I _won_ _’t_ be letting you in.”

“That won’t be a problem, Professor,” Harry called out, and then, to her horror, he pulled out his own copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher_ _’s Stone,_ found he place, and began to read: _“‘I see the Stone…I’m presenting it to my Master…but where is it?’”_

“No! That’s impossible!” Umbridge said. “How did you get that?”

“It pays to have friends you can count on, Professor. _Harry struggled against the ropes binding him, but they didn_ _’t give. He_ had _to keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror._ _”_

“Stop reading! _Stop reading—MMPF!_ ” McGonagall conjured a gag over Umbridge’s mouth.

 _“‘But Snape always seemed to hate me so much,’”_ Harry read. “Oh, I’m sorry, Professor Snape. It’s your turn, isn’t it? Would you like to read?”

Snape blinked at him in surprise. “No, Mr. Potter, I would not,” he said slowly. “I believe you are doing an adequate job for our purposes.”

Harry suspected that Snape might just want to watch him squirm at having to read this uncomfortable private account of his life—or else was trying to make him prove himself a glory hound—that would be more Snape’s style. But Harry was past complaining if this book finally got rid of Umbridge. He shrugged and kept reading: _“‘Oh, he does,’  said Quirrell casually, ‘heavens, yes. He was at school with your father, didn’t you know? They loathed each other. But he never wanted you_ dead. _’”_

Quirrell continued monologuing at Harry’s nudging. It was Voldemort who had threatened him in the classroom, and it was Quirrell himself who broke into Gringotts, only to find the Philosopher’s Stone was already gone. But he still couldn’t figure out how to get it out of the Mirror. Then, another voice told him to “use the boy”.

All grew quiet. The students shuddered. Not even Malfoy dared interrupt Harry’s reading.

In the story, Harry stood in from of the Mirror of Erised, and, somehow, his reflection placed the Stone in his real pocket. But before he could get away, Quirrell caught him…and took off his turban.

_“Where there should have been a back to Quirrell’s head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk-white with glaring read eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.”_

Voldemort.

The younger students screamed in terror. The older ones told each other they were sure they were going to have nightmares. This was even scarier than the scene in the forest—scarier than a beast drinking the blood of a unicorn. The face of Voldemort. McGonagall and several other teachers looked like they wanted to intervene, but they were so far down this rabbit hole that it would be worse to leave it at that, and at this point, they doubted Harry would let them.

Except he was interrupted as Fred and George Weasley fell plumb out of their seats, hyperventilating.

“Oh my God,” an indeterminate twin said.

“We hit You-Know-Who,” the other said.

“With snowballs.”

“In the face!”

“Mum’s gonna kill us.”

“Who cares? That’s the most awesome thing we’ve ever done!”

“Agreed!”

People laughed at their antics, relieving some of the tension, but it didn’t last long. In the story, Voldemort spoke to Harry face to face and demanded the Philosopher’s Stone from him. He knew! Harry tried to run.

_“‘Don’t be a fool,’ snarled the face. ‘Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents... They died begging me for mercy...’”_

“LIAR!” a few people in the Hall yelled.

“Thanks, guys,” Harry said aloud. He rolled his eyes and continued reading: _“‘LIAR! Harry shouted suddenly.’”_ There were some giggles despite the horror of the scene. _“Quirrell was walking backwards at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling._

_“‘How touching…’ it hissed. ‘I always value bravery…Yes, boy, your parents were brave…I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight…but your mother needn’t have died…she was trying to protect you…’”_

Many of the students gasped as they made the connection: Voldemort was there to kill Harry in particular, not his parents. That made it all the more tragic, but also, perhaps more importantly, meant that he had seen a credible threat in a one-year-old baby. What power did Harry hold that would make him a threat at that age? No one could say.

When talking failed, however, Quirrell attacked, but he failed the moment he touched Harry. Indeed, Harry’s touch burned him. They fought hand-to-hand, both of them in terrible pain, until Harry passed out: _“He felt Quirrell’s arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down…down…down…”_

He trailed off into silence, pausing to let the horror sink in. It was only fair that everyone else properly appreciate the terror he felt at Voldemort nearly killing him when he was eleven years old.

Finally, Colin Creevey broke the silence: “Bloody hell, how did you get out of that one, Harry?”

Harry gave him a tight smile. “Sheer, dumb luck, like always,” he said. _“Something gold was glinting just above him. The Snitch! He tried to catch it, but his arms were too heavy.”_ That had everyone very confused, but it wasn’t the Snitch at all. It was Dumbledore’s glasses. That got a lot of laughs, albeit mainly out of relief.

“That was an awful week,” Professor Sprout spoke up. “We were all afraid we’d killed Harry Potter in his first year.” That got a few more laughs.

In the story, however, Harry was frantic, still worried about the Philosopher’s Stone until Dumbledore explained that he was in the infirmary, surrounded by gifts from well-wishers, and that everything was alright. _“‘I believe your friends Misters Fred and George Weasley were responsible for sending you a lavatory seat.’”_ That got even more laughs, the loudest of all from Ginny.

Dumbledore told Harry that he’d been unconscious for three days, and he had barely reached Harry in time before “the effort involved” in keeping the Stone away from Quirrell killed him. Apparently, he had passed Hermione’s owl in mid-air.

Hermione gasped at that and sat back down to scribble more questions on her parchment.

  1. _Why did Dumbledore fly a broom to London (the slowest method) when he knew there was danger at the castle?_
  2. _Why did the protection that Harry had against Voldemort nearly kill him?_



Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel had reached an agreement with Dumbledore to destroy the Philosopher’s Stone (though Harry and his friends now suspected they had been scared into it). _“‘Oh, you know about Nicolas?’ said Dumbledore, sounding quite delighted. ‘You_ did _do the thing properly, didn_ _’t you?’”_

“What?” Hermione hissed.

“Huh?” Harry muttered.

“Do the thing properly? Was that—?”

“What?”

“Never mind, keep reading.”

“But—”

“It’ll take too long to explain. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Harry agreed, but Hermione was still frantically writing questions.

  1. _“You_ _did_ _do the thing properly._ _” What does that mean? Was it PLANNED? Was EVERYTHING planned???_



Dumbledore warned Harry that Voldemort could still come back: _“‘He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share…not being truly alive, he cannot be killed.’_

“There, you see,” he broke off to address the school. “All of you who didn’t believe me when I said he was back—who didn’t believe Dumbledore. You swallowed every word the book said—which as far as I can tell is all true, and Fudge and Umbridge thought so, too, until it started saying things that were inconvenient to them. Voldemort’s still out there, and Fudge has been enabling him by wilfully pretending he doesn’t exist. That’s…” he got an idea. “Hermione, would that qualify as treason?”

Hermione looked up and thought for a moment, and her face brightened. “It might,” she said. “And it would _definitely_ fall under gross negligence, abrogation of public duty, abuse of power, violation of oath of office. And then there’s the things that Umbridge has done in this school if they could get a neutral party to investigate them.”

“Yeah, Harry agreed. “Hey, Auror Shacklebolt, maybe you should arrest them instead of us.”

Kingsley raised an eyebrow and then turned to his hogtied superiors. “The boy has a point,” he said. “If you’re so eager to apply this standard of evidence to him, you should be prepared to apply it to yourselves, too.”

Fudge and Umbridge produced muffled protests, which were ignored.

“Auror Shacklebolt, there are six more books,” Professor McGonagall pointed out. “If they record everything as faithfully as this one does, they should point you to where to find clear evidence of criminal behaviour or at the very least serious corruption on the part of both the Minister and Professor Umbridge.”

“I see…” he said. He waved his wand, and a vague, silvery shape appeared and sped through the nearest wall. “I think that’s enough to act upon, Professor. I’ve sent a message to Amelia Bones. She should be here soon to run a _fair_ investigation. In the meantime, why don’t you finish the story, Mr. Potter?”

“Alright, then,” Harry agreed. After Dumbledore finished explaining things, he agreed to answer Harry’s questions if he could, but sadly, Harry’s very first question—why Voldemort was after him and not his parents, he refused to answer, claiming Harry was not old enough to hear it.

Hermione was writing at lightning speed:

  1. _Why did Voldemort want to kill Harry in particular?_
  2. _Why has Dumbledore still not told Harry the answer?_



However, Dumbledore _was_ forthcoming about why Quirrell couldn’t touch Harry: his mother’s sacrifice gave him a powerful magical protection of love against his would-be murderer, Voldemort. Many of the girls said, “Aww…” at this, but Hermione only found another loose thread:

  1. _What made Lily Potter_ _’s self-sacrifice different from any other mother’s (or father’s)?_



Dumbledore informed Harry that he had given him his invisibility cloak (something that Harry obliviously hadn’t figured out yet in the story) and explained was Snape’s problem was: _“‘And then, your father did something Snape could never forgive.’_

_“‘What?’_

_“‘He saved his life.’_

_“‘_ What _?_ _’”_

“What?” many of the people in the Hall echoed.

“Mr. Potter, I don’t think this is appropriate—” Snape started to say.

“Ha!” McGonagall interrupted. “After all the private material Potter and others have had revealed about themselves? I don’t think so, Severus. You take your lumps, like the rest of us.”

Snape sat down and crossed his arms sulkily, glaring at Harry. Harry debated with himself whether it might be wiser to skip this part, but the twin smirks directed at him from Fred and George told him it would be futile. They would surely find some way of learning the truth. He kept reading: _“‘Yes…’ said Dumbledore dreamily. ‘Funny, the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt…’”_ Which was a really terrible reason to hate someone, Harry thought. Although, after Dumbledore had just mentioned Malfoy, he couldn’t help but think if by some miracle Malfoy saved his life from something, he might be nearly as uncomfortable about it.

Fortunately, no one tried to press Snape on just how Harry’s father had saved his life. That certainly wouldn’t have gone over well. And Harry’s last question, how he had got the Stone out of the Mirror, was simple enough. Someone who wanted to _use_ the Stone would see themselves using it, but someone who wanted to _have_ the Stone without using it, would have it. That really was clever, despite backfiring.

After that, it was smooth sailing. All he had to do was read the part where he told Ron and Hermione everything, and…

Harry’s brain short-circuited when he saw it. He choked when he registered what he was saying in the story and stopped to read through it silently. That was insane.

“Mr. Potter, is something wrong?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Yes—no—I just…I was a bloody _idiot_ when I was eleven.”

“Only then, Potter?” Snape asked.

“That will do, Severus,” McGonagall said. “Mr. Potter, most adults would say that. It’s nothing serious.”

“But just listen to this, Professor,” Harry protested. _“‘He’s a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don’t think it was an accident he let me find out how the mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could…’”_

Hermione stopped and shouted, “Merlin’s pants! I was right! I didn’t think it was possible, but I was bloody right!”

“What? Hermione?” Harry said.

“Miss Granger, what on Earth are you talking about?” McGonagall said.

“Dumbledore planned the whole thing!” More gasps rang out, albeit as much because it was Hermione who said it as because of the implications.

“What? No!” Harry said. “I was just saying how ridiculous that was.”

“But don’t you see, Harry? It all fits. Look at this.” She thrust her parchment in Harry’s face, but instead of the questions, she pointed to the bottom, where she had scrawled out a new list, very hurriedly and dissolving into incoherent speculation by the end: 

_ Philosopher _ _ ’s Stone “Protections” _

  1. _Fluffy: nominally strong defence, but weakness easily learnt from Hagrid, guessable by muggle-borns; door opened with first-year charm; no Age Line, etc. Hagrid gave Harry flute used to get past him._
  2. _Devil_ _’s Snare: easily identified and fought by first-years. Neville: friend of Harry, good at Herbology._
  3. _Keys: door protected with stronger locking charm; key stored in room; accessible to any strong Quidditch player. Harry called professional-level player in first year._
  4. _Chessboard: beatable by any strong chess player. Ron: friend of Harry, known as excellent chess player._
  5. _Troll: beatable by any wizard with good marks in Defence; single troll, not trained; security trolls work in pairs. One already beaten by HP, RW, & HG._
  6. _Logic puzzle: not that difficult in retrospect; no tricks, uncharacteristic of Snape. Hermione: friend of Harry, smart and good at logic puzzles._
  7. _Mirror: impossible for Voldemort to crack; everything else unnecessary. Why the theatre? Trap for LV? Harry (known to be?) selfless enough to get the Stone out—made things worse. Unexpected result? Would have been mostly safe (?) in confrontation. Confrontation planned? AD knew about protection? Only one person could go forward from potions. Friends kept away and safe?_



 “Dumbledore planned the whole thing,” she insisted. “He set up protections that three first-years could get through—that he specifically knew you and your friends were capable of getting through, but where you had to go to the last room alone. He told Hagrid a bunch of important stuff knowing that Hagrid _can_ _’t_ keep a secret. He gave you the invisibility cloak and told you how the Mirror worked so you would know what to do. He might’ve even had a hand in our detention—”

“Hermione, do you hear yourself?” Harry stopped her. “That’s complete mental!”

“No, it’s not. _You_ figured the whole thing out right when it all happened. You just read it. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Because I realised how insane a plan it was and forgot all about the idea years ago. Think about it. The Stone would be _less_ safe that way, not more. Quirrell never could have got it out on his own, and then I did it for him, and Voldemort nearly killed me. Why would Dumbledore do that?”

“I don’t know. That’s the part that doesn’t make sense.”

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall interrupted. The two of them looked around and registered that they’d been arguing in front of the entire Great Hall. That wasn’t good. Umbridge and Fudge were still making muffled protests, no doubt trying to redeem themselves by discrediting Dumbledore. “I think you may be reading too much into this,” she said. “A detention in the Forbidden Forest would have been impossible to foresee, even if it were a usual practice here, which it is not. It sounds to me like Professor Dumbledore placed an unbreakable protection on the Philosopher’s Stone, and then, through an unfortunate string of coincidences, the three of you decided that you needed to intervene, and Mr. Potter compromised the protections by accident. To accuse Professor Dumbledore of what you are suggesting…”

Hermione shook her head: “I know it sounds mad, Professor, but in that case, why bring the Mirror of Erised up for Harry to see it? It all comes back to that mirror, doesn’t it? Was the Stone in the Mirror even then? If so, why all the theatre of the other protections—and you have to admit, Professor, they _were_ theatre. And if the Stone _wasn_ _’t_ there, then did it have any meaningful protection at all for those three nights? If the plan was just to protect the Stone in the Mirror, there should have been no reason for Harry to ever encounter it.”

“But Mr. Potter is right too, Miss Granger,” McGonagall countered. “Including him in the plan only made things worse and nearly got him killed, to boot. Your theory doesn’t explain that.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Hermione muttered to herself. She bit her lip in concentration. “Nothing Dumbledore did with the Mirror made sense. Why show it to Harry? Not to get the Stone out—not if he were sensible. Not to warn him if he came upon it again. That’s what he _said_ , but there was no reason for that to happen. Just to show him his parents? No, too dangerous—Wait—That’s it! Harry, you saw your parents in the Mirror the first time.”

“…Yeah, so?” Harry said.

“That explains everything! Dumbledore didn’t underestimate Quirrell; he underestimated _you_. He wasn’t _expecting_ you to get the Stone out of the Mirror. He wasn’t expecting you to be so selfless; what eleven-year-old is? He was expecting you to see your parents again. When you _did_ get it out, you threw a spanner in it.”

“Huh? But why? Why would he do that?” he demanded.

“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said, “you said Dumbledore already knew about the protection on Harry from his Mum. That explains it. He already _knew_ that Voldemort couldn’t hurt Harry. But Harry _could_ hurt Voldemort. We just heard it. He manoeuvred Harry into a one-on-one confrontation with Voldemort using the Philosopher’s Stone as bait—bait that he didn’t think _either_ of them could get hold of—because he believed Harry might be able to get rid of Voldemort for good.”

“What…?” McGonagall had suddenly gone very pale as she tried to process this. “But that’s…that’s…” She tried to find an easy place to refute her, but she couldn’t seem to do it.

“Hermione that was brilliant,” Luna Lovegood said suddenly. “Could I interest you in writing it up for _The Quibbler?_ ”

Hermione paled and slumped down in her seat, covering her face. “Oh, God, I’ve become a conspiracy theorist,” she said.

“ _Well_ ,” McGonagall said, collecting herself. “Miss Granger, I think this has gone much too far already. Frankly, your claims _do_ make a disturbing amount of sense, but I am sure there is a rational explanation for what happened. Regardless, I will be sure to discuss this thoroughly with Professor Dumbledore the next time I see him, as it is clear that many mistakes were made that year. Mr. Potter, perhaps you should finish reading the chapter to ensure that there are no more massively disruptive revelations coming?”

There was silence for a minute. This latest argument had called Dumbledore’s entire reputation into question even for his fans. Harry still couldn’t believe the massive conspiracy Hermione had constructed seemingly out of nowhere, but he had to admit he saw no obvious place to refute it aside from how mad it sounded. There weren’t any more bombshells, though. Hagrid was distraught over the whole affair, which was another mark against Dumbledore if the conspiracy were true, but anyway, Hagrid gave Harry a photo album of his parents. Then, the Leaving Feast came, and Dumbledore returned the hundred and fifty points Harry and his friends had lost to Gryffindor plus twenty more so that they would win the House Cup.

“Which in retrospect was kind of a mean thing to do at the last minute,” Hermione pointed out.

“Maybe a little,” Ron said, “but they’d won like seven years in a row because of Snape, so we were kinda getting them back.”

Finally, the summer holidays came, and Harry was stuck going back to his awful relatives. But there _was_ a silver lining this time.

_“‘Hope you have—er—a good holiday,’ said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant._

_“‘Oh, I will,’ said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. ‘_ They _don_ _’t know we’re not allowed to use magic at home. I’m going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer…’”_

Harry’s friends laughed as he finally put the book down. If only that could have lasted the _whole_ summer, and preferably the subsequent summers, too.

Now, however, the _real_ trouble got started.

A few minutes after Harry finished the reading, Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, walked into the Great Hall with a half dozen Aurors, saw multiple high-ranking Ministry officials trussed up like Christmas geese, and immediately demanded answers. Kingsley and Unspeakable Croaker gave her an explanation of the book reading (which she already knew about from her niece), what had happened that morning, and McGonagall’s claim that the complete set of books would provide evidence of wrongdoing by Fudge and Umbridge and of Voldemort’s return.

Upon hearing this, Madam Bones called McGonagall and Snape into a private conference with her and Kingsley while lunch was served to the students. A few minutes later, Croaker was shown Umbridge’s copy of the book. Almost immediately, Croaker pulled Bones into a private, one-on-one conference.

“He probably saw it was from the future,” Hermione whispered.

After this, there was another conference between Bones, Croaker, and McGonagall, which was punctuated intermittently with epithets about Dumbledore, which Harry guessed were caused by McGonagall telling them Hermione’s theory. He had no idea what they were discussing most of the time, but after a good, long while, they broke it off, and Bones said loudly enough for him to hear, “No, no, you’re right. If You-Know-Who is back, we’ll need him.”

Bones stepped to the front of the Great Hall and said, “May I have your attention, please? I cannot comment on an ongoing investigation, but I wish to make the following announcements. First, Dolores Umbridge is hereby removed from _all_ of her positions here at Hogwarts—”

The cacophony of cheers made it clear to her that she had made the right decision. Once the school had quieted down, she continued, “Minerva McGonagall is reinstated as Acting Headmistress effective immediately. Furthermore, the arrest warrant for Albus Dumbledore is hereby cancelled, and he will receive legal immunity regarding all of his alleged actions that have been revealed here at Hogwarts this week. Likewise, the arrest warrant for Rubeus Hagrid is also cancelled. Rubeus Hagrid, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger will all receive legal immunity for their actions in the 1991 to 1992 school year as revealed this week. All revelations made in the book reading with week will be fully investigated and fact-checked as a DMLE matter _without_ interference from the Minister’s Office.” She glared at Fudge, and Harry got the impression she was on their side.

Hermione noted the very specific wording of the immunity granted in each case and pointed this out to Harry. He supposed it made sense. Who knew what other stuff they might have got up to? It was also pretty clear that they weren’t charging Dumbledore because they needed him for the fight against Voldemort, but he could see that she was right; the mismanagement and outright misconduct going around the school that year meant that all the teachers could potentially be in trouble. Indeed, after Bones stepped down, Professor McGonagall got up with an announcement of her own.

“In light of the ongoing investigation,” she said, “all classes are cancelled for the remainder of the day. Furthermore, an emergency meeting of the Board of Governors will be called to do a full review of _all_ staff members at earliest convenience. This is the standard procedure by which Hogwarts has always managed herself, and it will not in any way be influenced by the reviews made by the High Inquisitor. And thank Merlin, there will be no book reading tomorrow. Any questions?”

“Will you look at the other books, too?” Harry called out. “Because there’s some very important stuff in third year that you ought to know about.”

Madam Bones fixed her gaze on him: “I assure you, Mr. Potter, that I will investigate the matter fully and uphold the law wherever it may lead.”

“Good enough,” he said.

* * *

Professor McGonagall wasn’t available that afternoon for Hermione to ask her all her questions, but honestly, if her theory about Dumbledore’s actions was right, most of them had already been answered. A few still remained: Why did Dumbledore allow Harry to be exposed to the Mirror for so long, and where was it now? Why didn’t Dumbledore find a safer way to tip Harry off that Voldemort was in the castle? _Why did Dumbledore allow Voldemort in the castle?!_ Why did the rest of the teachers go along with his security theatre? Why did Voldemort want to kill Harry in particular, and what made Lily Potter’s sacrifice special? That really covered everything that was left. Unfortunately, the teachers weren’t available to talk—probably because of that review McGonagall had mentioned—so she would just have to wait.

* * *

“Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore!” Minerva shrieked. “Do you meant to tell me that that cockamamie conspiracy theory Miss Granger charged you with is _true?!_ ”

Albus winced, but nodded: “I must admit, I am very impressed. That was a surprisingly good leap of logic even by Miss Granger’s standards. For better or worse, she has hit the nail quite on the head, as they say.”

“ _WHY_ , Albus? Why on Earth could you possibly do something so reckless?”

“Minerva, you know about the prophecy,” he said calmly.

Minerva froze and paled rapidly. “The prophecy?” she said.

“Perhaps I should have told you this years ago, but I think it is time you heard the exact wording.”

“Oh…well, okay, Albus…Honestly, you’re right. You _should_ have told me ages ago, just as I wonder if you should have told Mr. Potter as well.”

“Not the exact wording,” he cautioned. “The boy must learn Occlumency first, but perhaps you’re right. You, however, have so such restriction, so yes, I think it is time.”

He told her.

“I need a drink,” she said.

Albus called for a bottle of brandy from the kitchens.

“Thank you,” Minerva said absently. “So…you arranged the whole thing?”

“Yes, I did, Minerva.”

“You arranged for Harry to face You-Know-Who one-one-one, believing You-Know-Who was incapable of harming Harry?”

“Correct.”

“And because of the prophecy, you believed Harry was capable of killing You-Know-Who?”

“I believed it was worth a try, with little risk if it failed.”

“So Miss Granger was also correct that you believed Harry couldn’t get that damned Stone out of the Mirror?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have taken such a risk if I hadn’t.”

“So…just to review, you attempted to manipulate an eleven-year-old boy into killing a man, including sending him and three other students into the Forbidden Forest at night. You nearly got said boy killed twice. You manipulated Hagrid, a good friend who was nothing but earnest the whole way, into thinking _he_ _’d_ nearly got Harry killed with his loose lips.”

Albus’s face fell. That assessment seemed to be hitting him close to home. Good.

“Bones was right, Albus,” Minerva continued. “You’re very lucky we need you. And as much as I hate to admit it—and I really, _really_ do—that Umbridge woman was right, too. You _shouldn_ _’t_ be Headmaster if _that_ _’s_ the calibre of ideas you come up with these days. And now, you’ve got me and the entire staff under review alongside you for going along with your mad scheme. And I admit I made some other mistakes and mismanagement on my own, but this mess is undermining the entire school.”

Albus nodded solemnly. It saddened him that things had gone this far, but he was humble enough to admit that this was a badly-needed wake-up call for him. “We will offer what concessions we can,” he said. “That should mollify the Board, especially in these troubled times, and still leave us with some control. To begin with, I will need to remain here to protect the students,” he said, “but I will not necessarily need to remain as Headmaster.”

“What?” Minerva said.

“I think you will make a fine Headmistress, Minerva. You have made a few mistakes, to be sure, but then, so does every teacher. You are well-liked and well-respected. Doing both is not easy. You are more than capable, and more to the point, it is imperative that we retain several Order members here in the castle.”

“But I can’t be Headmistress and a teacher,” she said. “That was one of the things I messed up so badly before.”

“I hardly think you would do a bad job, but you are right; someone to take up the slack would be helpful. And there are all the other new teaching vacancies to consider as well.” All of the Ministry appointees had been ousted by now, so the staffroom was getting very empty.

“Too many. What are we going to do, Albus?” she asked.

“I have a plan,” he said. “You’re going to hate me, though.”

“What is it?”

He told her.

“You’re right, Albus, I hate you.”

* * *

On Thursday morning, Dumbledore was back at the High Table, much to Harry’s relief, but he wasn’t in the Heasmaster’s chair. In fact, the Head’s seat was vacant. Classes were cancelled again, too.

The _Daily Prophet_ reported that “You-Know-Who” was back. Umbridge was ousted from her position at the Ministry and was under arrest for a laundry list of charges. Fudge was hanging on, but only in the nominal sense that he called for an election rather than resign. No one expected him to win. And even he was admitting Voldemort was back. Garrick Ollivander made a public statement verifying certain facts about Voldemort and his wand to back up the Ministry’s new position. The book reading at Hogwarts was barely mentioned at all.

On Thursday night, Dumbledore pulled Harry out of the Common Room, and the two of them left the castle for unspecified reasons. On his return, Harry reported they were recruiting a new professor, but he wasn’t sure why he had been needed.

On Friday morning, Professor Dumbledore was still at the High Table, but Professor McGonagall was the one sitting in the Head’s chair. Speculation ran rampant about what was going on, centred around the management concerns that had been raised in the book, until Dumbledore stood up and made the announcement.

“Your attention, please,” he said. “I know we have all experienced a great tumult of surprises and revelations this week, and many of you will no doubt be concerned about the future of this school and your level of protection here. Let me start by assuring you that Hogwarts remains the most secure place in Britain against any form attack. Hogwarts will _always_ be a safe refuge.

“Now, I am aware that there have been many accusations against me and a few against other teachers and staff members about mismanagement, negligence, and unprofessional behaviour here at Hogwarts. Many of these accusations are unfortunately true, and I accept the blame for the greatest number of them.” Nervous murmurs ran around the Great Hall at that. “I have behaved in ways that did not best benefit my students on multiple occasions, and for that, I apologise. In light of the recent revelations, I, in conjunction with the Board of Governors and the teaching staff, have decided that it would be best if I step down as Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Horrified gasps sounded. Half the school only thought Hogwarts _was_ the safest place around because of Dumbledore. Dumbledore raised his hands for silence, though, and he continued, “I will not, however, be leaving Hogwarts. I will remain in the castle as Professor Emeritus of Alchemy. This will allow me to remain in the castle, continue teaching, and defend the school if need be, but I will not be involved in most of the school’s normal operations.

“As for the headship of the school, I leave you in the capable hands of Professor McGonagall. I am aware that there have been a few specific concerns about her this week, but her service record has been exemplary over many years, and I am confident that she is more than equal to the task. Professor McGonagall will also continue to teach the N.E.W.T. Transfiguration classes for the time being.”

McGonagall stood up to considerable applause from her students. Harry and his friends bore no ill will towards her, even with the fiasco in first year, since she had been a good ally to them since.

“Finally,” Dumbledore continued, “It has come to our attention that the position of Deputy Headmaster is, in fact, rather difficult to do well when one is also teacher. Therefore Hogwarts’ _new_ Deputy Headmaster will be giving up his teaching post to perform his duties full time. I am pleased to announce that our new Deputy Headmaster will be…Professor Snape.”

Snape stood up to stunned silence followed by cheers from Slytherin and polite applause from everyone else. Harry was shocked. He wasn’t sure whether to be appalled that Snape was getting a promotion or overjoyed that he wouldn’t be teaching Potions anymore.

“They did that because they know he’s a terrible teacher, I’m sure of it,” Neville whispered.

“Probably, yes,” Hermione admitted. “I doubt he’d even be a teacher except for the Order,” she whispered to Ron and Harry.

Dumbledore and Snape sat down, but McGonagall remained standing. She moved to stand in front of the Headmistress’s chair to make the next announcement. “As we have many vacancies on our staff now, we’ve had to make significant changes very quickly,” she said. “Those changes are as follows: the Potions Master and Head of Slytherin will be Professor Horace Slughorn, who has graciously agreed to come out of retirement for the remainder of this school year.” The short, fat man Harry had helped recruit last night stood and smiled self-importantly.

“The new Head of Gryffindor will be Professor Sinistra, who will be moving her personal quarters closer to Gryffindor Tower,” McGonagall continued. “Defence Against the Dark Arts will be taught by Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Transfiguration up to O.W.L.-level will be taught by Auror Tonks, who together will be providing additional security to the school. And for History of Magic, allow me to introduce our first living Professor in far too many years, Professor Sage Bragnam, formerly of the Department for the Regulation and Control of magical creatures, and before that a well-travelled scholar of artifacts and runes.

A large-ish wizard with a bushy, brown beard, a tan trench coat, and a scarf stood and nodded genially to the students.

“Oh, no,” Harry grumbled. “Another Ministry guy?”

“Actually, I think we might be okay with this one, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Why’s that.”

“I can’t see any ally of Fudge or Umbridge wearing a Tom Baker-style scarf.”

Harry looked at him again and considered this. “Hmm, we’ll ask him if he has any jelly babies. That’ll prove it.”

“Okay, seriously, _what_ it a jelly baby, and what’s the big deal about them?” Ron said.

Harry and Hermione just looked at each other and laughed.

“As for returning faces,” McGonagall continued. “Professor Trelawney has been reinstated as Professor of Divination. Unfortunately, Hagrid has had to step down from his teaching role until such time as he is fully qualified. However, he will remain here as Groundskeeper, while Professor Grubbly-Plank will take up the role of Care of Magical Creatures Professor full-time.

“And finally, with Mr. Filch’s departure, we have reviewed the position of Caretaker…and determined that it is not needed.” That was a big surprise. There had always been a Caretaker at Hogwarts since its founding. “Truthfully, Filch did nothing that a full-time Deputy Head and a few house elves could not,” she explained, “and there hasn’t been a Caretaker in living memory who really added anything productive to the school. All caretaking duties shall henceforth be delegated to the Head Elf, Flory, under the supervision of Professor Snape. You may see an increased visible house elf presence maintaining the school in the future. This should be considered normal.

“Also, in light of certain revelations, non-teaching staff members will no longer be allowed to assign detentions unilaterally. Except for an emergency situation, they will now take any serious disciplinary concerns to the student’s Head of House.” That wasn’t exactly the problem with the detention in the Forest, but given Filch’s behaviour, even though he was gone, it was still a welcome change.

When it was all said an done, only five teachers—Flitwick, Sprout, Vector, Babbling, and Burbage—were completely untouched by the changes, and barely more than half were still teaching the same class they were on Monday. It was the biggest shake-up Hogwarts had had in generations.

“Well,” Harry concluded, “one good thing has come out of this mess so far. I think the rest of our time at Hogwarts will be a lot more pleasant.”


End file.
